


Spring in New Hampshire

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-10
Updated: 2004-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14799242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Sam has a problem with Spring in New Hampshire.





	1. Spring in New Hampshire

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Spring in New Hampshire**

**by:** Jen

**Character(s):** Sam, Senior Staff  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** Drama  
**Rating:** CHILD  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** Sam has a problem with Spring in New Hampshire  


Sam Seaborn peered at himself in the mirror while the shower heated up. He had to admit he didn't look so great. He ran a finger along the dark circles under his eyes, and then rubbed the red rims of his eyelids. His blue irises stared blankly back at him for a moment as if he was watching someone else, then Sam blinked and gave his head a little shake. Shower. That's what he was doing...Sam grinned ruefully at his reflection. He knew a speech writing session with the President in a hay barn would be a bad idea...

It had begun with the second campaign trip to Manchester. Sam had never been to New England in the Spring, and he was looking forward to getting out into the countryside. It had seemed there was never time in New York to head for the great outdoors, and Sam missed the huge blue vistas of California more than ever.

Josh, of course, was buzzing with excitement. He loved returning to New Hampshire as a man with a mission - to get Governor Bartlet elected. Josh was also keen to show Sam the beauty of his own turf. He had been to Sam's side of the country often enough, and wanted to show off his own North-eastern corner. After a lunch together at the Governor's home, the team had a couple of hours to look around the town. Toby wanted to catch up on some reading so Josh, Sam and CJ headed for the local gardens to "get a feel for the natural beauty of this place" (Josh's words, of course). They wandered down through the parklands, still talking about the campaign, which consumed their thoughts day and night.

"I just can't see where we should go with the peace issue," bemoaned CJ, raising a topic they would have to address with Leo that evening. "It will have to be closely linked with everything we're saying about international relations."

"Why do we have to make the links?" Josh loved devil's advocate.

"We can...a-achoo!" Sam sneezed. "I...think...a-achoo!"

Josh snorted, "Wow, Sam, that was supremely eloquent. Any other contributions like that, we can win this election for sure." He grinned at Sam, who was poised mid-stride...only to sneeze again,

"Aaachoo! Damn, I must be getting a cold." Sam blew his nose.

"Don't get sick here," warned Josh, "The Governor will never forgive you!"

"Shut-up, Josh." CJ of course. "Sam, do you want to head back?"

"No, I'm fine. Let's keep going." Sam moved on down the slope towards the creek. They continued their admiration of New England flora and the peace and quiet of the town as they made their way back to the Bartlet's residence for meetings.

Three hours later, Toby slammed down his papers and pointed his pen at Sam in a distinctively sword-like fashion,

"For God's sake, Sam, will you shove a plug up your nose or something?" He blew a long, angry breath of air out between his teeth and rubbed a hand across his forehead. Sam jerked his head backwards from the unexpected outburst and stared at Toby, managing to look startled and wounded at the same time. Toby stared back, taking in Sam's pale face and red nose. He changed tack and stood up. "Coffee?"

They headed into the kitchen. Sam sat at the scrubbed wooden table and rubbed his eyes. They were so sore. He couldn't ever remember having a cold like this, sore head, sore nose, sore eyes. Just then, Josh breezed into the room.

"Hey, Toby. Hey, Sam, feeling better..." His voice trailed off as he took in Sam's appearance. "Man, you look like hell. What did you do to him, Toby?"

Toby snorted. "I asked for a little assistance with this speech and all I get is 'cough, sneeze, cough, sneeze'." He rattled the papers in his hand. "I'm blaming you, Josh. You're the one who insisted he go out into the great New Hampshire countryside. What did YOU do to him? He was fine before that." Toby turned back to the coffee machine.

Josh moved his focus back to Sam. "What's the story, buddy?"

Sam shrugged, "It's nothing. Just a cold."

The next morning, Sam had no voice and very red eyes. He had kept Josh awake most of the night, sneezing, and Josh was irritable.

"You can't work, so just stay there. I need a break. I'll call later." Josh slammed the motel room door. Sam leaned back on the pillows with a sigh. This wasn't working out the way he had hoped.

Everyone stayed away from Sam for the next day and a half, then they collected him to head south for the next rally.

Three weeks later they returned to Manchester for the May Day celebrations. Here they hoped to introduce the powerful peace message crafted for Bartlet's campaign. Everyone was nervous as the bus pulled into town. This was going to be a real decider in the Presidential race, and Jed Bartlet had to pull off a convincing and moving performance as someone who could weald power whilst striving for peace.

Two hours after their arrival, Sam, who had recovered from his cold surprisingly quickly, began to sneeze. He was walking up to the Bartlet's with CJ when it started. CJ stared at him open-mouthed as he held onto a lamp-post for balance and sneezed over and over.

"Seven!" she exclaimed in horror. "I thought you were over that cold."

"I...I was," Sam gasped. He blew his nose and straightened up. "Let's go." They continued on, CJ glancing sideways at Sam, whose breathing seemed to be labouring as they took the slight hill. She couldn't believe he was sick again.

"Sam..."

"CJ, I'm sure it's nothing," panted Sam, interrupting her. "Just pretend it never happened."

"That's not so easy. You look a bit whiter than that fence you're passing."

They reached the Bartlet home. Sam paused on the porch, panting.

"You go in...I'll..aaachoo...be there in a minute." Sam blew his nose again and sat down heavily on the porch steps. He could feel the same pains of three weeks ago closing around his head like a vice. He didn't get it. He was never sick, and now two colds in a month. Sam sighed, then rose and headed inside.

They worked solidly through the morning, the tension high - everyone was keyed up in preparation for the rally in two days time. Sam tried to ignore his aching head. He had taken a wad of aspirin to no avail, and was only relieved that the sneezing seemed to have abated somewhat. He hoped no-one was noticing the difficulty he was having reading his notes...

Leo was the first to blow this time. He slammed his pen down and glared at Sam menacingly,

"I swear to God, if you take those glasses off to rub your eyes one more time, I'm going to throttle you. What the hell are you doing?"

Sam froze, one hand already on the gold frame of his reading glasses. He slowly lowered his hand, swallowing audibly, and glanced at the others. Toby was leaning back in his chair, ready for an interesting scene. Josh had looked up startled from his reference book, and was also staring at Sam. He leaned towards Sam,

"What's going on, buddy?"

"I'll tell you," exploded Leo, "he's lost his brain somewhere on the campaign trail."

Sam looked at the men before him. "I think I might, might...aaachoo!"

"Not again!" Toby also threw his pen on the table. "Go to bed, Sam, before we all catch whatever the hell you've got again."

"But I..."

"NO!" came a chorus of shouts from everyone at the table. Sam stood up, gathered his notes, and slunk towards the door. He turned and shot Toby a pleading glance from the doorway, but Toby just shook his head. Sam sighed loudly and slipped out the back door.

The following morning, Josh and Sam arrived for the morning session looking decidedly dishevelled; Josh was tired and grumpy, Sam was pale with the dark rings of sleeplessness encircling his watering eyes. They came into the kitchen where Leo and Jed were having coffee. Leo looked up and rolled his eyes.

"Don't tell me you two found some way to get plastered last night."

Jed swivelled to stare at them, "Good morning, Josh, Sam. Leo's right, you don't look so good. Was there a party you two failed to mention to the rest of us?" He smiled quizzically at the pair.

Josh returned Leo's roll of the eyes. "You two do realise where we are, right? I don't think they do parties up here, and certainly not the sort where we're going to get off our faces! No, no, no, no, no," Josh gestured at Sam, "our problem lies right here." He turned away and poured some coffee for them both. Leo and Jed looked at Sam, who tried to meet their gaze innocently. He leaned against the counter, attempting to appear nonchalant.

"Good morning, Governor, Leo" he croaked. Realising the futility of pretence, he dropped his gaze to the floor and folded his arms protectively. The older men looked at one another. Jed frowned at Josh.

"Wasn't he sick last time we were here?" Josh shrugged vaguely. "Josh?"

"Yeah," sighed Josh, "same thing, same symptoms." He sipped his coffee.

"Who has the same symptoms?" smiled Abby Bartlet, breezing into the kitchen. Jed and Leo rose momentarily and Sam straightened up, still staring fixedly at the floor.

"Morning, Josh, Sam. Is everything okay?" No-one answered. She took in Josh's appearance at a glance and frowned at him. "Josh?" Josh inclined his head towards Sam. Abby stepped over and tilted Sam's chin up with her finger. His distress was evident. Abby took in the red eyelids, red nose, pale face, and she could see the pain reflected in his blue eyes. "Is this a cold?"

Josh stepped forward, "It's the exact same thing he had last time we were here. It just hit him all of a sudden."

Abby frowned, "When were you last here? Wasn't it just a couple of weeks ago?"

"Three," confirmed Leo.

"And he was fine in between?" Abby seemed to think Josh would answer better than Sam.

"Yes, ma'am, the minute we hit Washington he was right as rain."

Abby looked at Sam, and the dark shadows around his eyes. "Josh, has Sam been up here before? Apart from the last trip?"

"We were here in November, but he was fine then."

There was a pause. Josh sipped his coffee. Abby moved thoughtfully over to the coffee machine. The silence was broken by Sam, turning away and exploding with four huge sneezes. 

"See why I can't get any sleep?" Josh gestured at Sam with his coffee cup.

Abby smiled across the room at her husband and Leo, "Mind if I borrow Sam for a few minutes?"

"Keep him for the rest of the day," grunted Leo. "I was ready to attack him last night."

Jed regarded Abby knowingly, "You have an idea?"

Abby nodded, and took Sam by the arm, "Do you mind popping down to my office, Sam?" Sam glanced around the kitchen. It was obvious he was about to protest, when they heard CJ walking down the hall speaking to...Toby. Sam clearly changed his mind, and docilely followed Abby out the other door.

Abby sat Sam down in her office, and took a good look at him. "So, Sam, do your eyes hurt?" A nod. "Throat?" A nod. "Nose? You don't need to answer, I can see that. Does your head feel like it is about to explode?" Eyes widening in appreciative surprise, Sam nodded again. "Feel a bit short of breath?" Another nod. "Do you mind if I listen to your chest?" A hesitant shake of the head.

After a brief examination, Abby sat down at her desk and looked at Sam, "Do you know what I think?" Another shake of the head. "Sam, have you ever suffered from hay-fever?"

Sam frowned, "No,ma'am," he whispered. It was better than a croak.

"Well, I think you do now. I think Spring in New Hampshire may be your problem."

"Spring? Here?" A squeaky whisper.

Abby nodded briskly. "It's the pollens and things at this time of the year, often affects locals too. Sam, would you be willing to try some hay fever medication?"

* * *

"Allergic to New Hampshire?" Josh was snorting with laughter.

"Oh, for God's sake, Josh, give it a rest," sighed CJ. "You must've said that fifty times now! Leave the kid alone."

Sam's head came up at that one, "I'm not a kid," he croaked. "Can't I just have one beer?"

"Do you know how much like a kid you sounded then?" asked Toby. "And, no, you can't drink while you're on that hay fever medication" He took a long sip of his own beer, and smiled ever so slightly. "Drink up your lemonade. It's past your bedtime!"

Josh collapsed in laughter on the other side of the table.

End


	2. Bucket, The

**The Bucket**

**by:** Jen

**Character(s):** Sam, Josh  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** Drama  
**Rating:** CHILD  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** Sam has a rough twenty-four hours  
 **Author's Note(s):**   I wrote this after it pretty much happened to me, and Abigale suggested I pass it on to Sam!

Sam slammed the phone into its cradle and thrust his seat back as far away from his desk as possible. He sat there rigidly, hands clenching and unclenching, snorting angry puffs of air through his nostrils, his eyes staring at the now offensive telephone as if daring it to ring again.

Which it did. Sam flinched visibly and squeezed his eyes shut. Another ring. He pushed his fingers into his eye sockets and rubbed fiercely. Another ring. Sam took a deep breath and reached for the phone. Realising at the last second he was sitting way too far from his desk to get even close to the ringing monster, Sam opened his eyes and tried to jerk his seat forward. A castor snagged and the whole chair, with Sam still in it, lurched drunkenly and crashed sideways to the floor.

The phone rang again. Bonnie popped her head around the doorway. "Sam..." Taking in the extraordinary scene unfolding behind Sam's desk, she stepped across and picked up the phone.

"Sam Seaborn's phone..." Hearing Bonnie take a message, Sam crawled out from under his chair and stood up carefully, dusting off his pants. Bonnie came and stood beside him. They both stared down at the offending piece of furniture. Just as Bonnie opened her mouth to say something, there was a bellow from the next office,

"Sam!"

Sam turned to her in mock surprise, "How did you do that?"

They leaned down together and righted the chair, and Sam grabbed his notebook and pen. Bonnie frowned at him,

"Sam..."

He smiled easily, "It was nothing, Bonnie. Thanks. I just...Robertson's office called and..." A rueful shrug.

"That new environment thing's not working out?"

Sam shook his head, and shrugged again. "I gotta..." He inclined his head towards the window.

* * *

"Damn 'em all to Hell, Sam! Do these people not understand the word compromise? Maybe we're not being clear enough." Pacing, Toby ticked off words on his fingers, "Compromise, agreement, middle ground, mutual concession..."

Toby's voice, as usual, seemed to be exacerbating Sam's headache, the one that had gripped his head like a vice when Senator Robertson's office had called. He took off his glasses, closed his eyes and tried rubbing small circles over his temples.

"Sam, you're going to have to talk to Josh and get a meeting with Robertson's people, today, this afternoon - get hold of his aide..." Toby's voice faltered as he stopped pacing, sat down at his desk and actually looked across at Sam, "What are you doing?"

Sam blinked his eyes open and picked up his pen and glasses. "Sorry. I'll get onto it right away."

"Good. And take some aspirin or something. You look like hell."

* * *

Sam leaned in Josh's doorway. No-one was there. He leaned back and looked across the hallway but Donna wasn't there either. Sam shrugged and went in anyway. He sat down at Josh's desk and sighed wearily. At least it was quieter in here. Sometimes he felt his office was like a goldfish bowl. In fact, the whole Communications Bullpen was rather like a huge aquarium - Sam's thoughts floated into a sort of watery world with computers and telephones drifting between sea sponges and coral reefs, angel fish darting across Toby's windows...

Josh waved a hand in the air. He took a step closer and waggled his fingers. No response. He shrugged off his backpack and overcoat, all the while keeping his eyes on Sam's slightly glazed expression. Recognising one of Sam's rare daydreams, Josh leaned against a bookcase and folded his arms. He smiled lightly. He wondered where Sam had gone in his head. He could see Sam looked pale and tired - they'd all had a rough couple of weeks.

"Josh!" Donna walked in carrying a pile of remits. "Oh, hi, Sam, I didn't know you were there."

Sam's head jerked up. He blinked rapidly and narrowed his eyes slightly. Aha, thought Josh, a headache too.

"Hey, Donna. Sorry, no-one was in here. I need to talk with Josh."

"Okay, see you later." Donna dumped the remits on Josh's desk and breezed out.

"Hey, buddy. No, stay there." Josh waved Sam back into his own seat. He perched on the edge of a chair piled with folders. "So." Josh cleared his throat. "Where were you?"

"Where was I when?" Sam frowned anxiously.

"Just then. I've been here for about five minutes and you never noticed. So, where were you?"

Sam bit his lip, a hint of colour in his cheeks. He grinned at Josh,

"If you could visualise Toby as a sort of deep-sea angler fish..."

Josh held up a warning hand, "Okay, let's not go there. What do you need?"

"Robertson's office won't ride with the pollutant thing."

"At all?"

"Almost everything. They're stalling me to Kingdom Come. I need to get this onto the table tomorrow, or Thursday morning at the latest."

"I know, I know. We all need this one to be a big hit. Who can you talk to?"

"That's why I'm here. I think, if you can get me a meeting with Dave Jackson..."

"-the oil guy?"

"Yeah, he could give me something to take to Mario Giannotti."

"-he's Robertson's guy?"

"Yeah. I could try for a 3 o'clock with Jackson, get to Mario by 5, spend tonight rehashing, and see Robertson tomorrow morning."

"You up to it? You look beat already."

"Who doesn't?" Sam stood up. "Can you get me Jackson?"

"I'm onto it. Donna!"

* * *

Sam's meeting with Mario had finally brough some degree of compromise to the situation. He headed back on foot in the darkness towards the White House feeling more energetic than he had all day, despite the two intense meetings and a distinct lack of food. Sam decided to cut across to a food outlet before the long night of work ahead. The footpath was littered with rubble from the adjacent building site, and even though he was focused on stepping carefully, he missed a pothole in the darkness and felt his ankle go over. Feeling a plummeting loss of control, Sam spun around and crashed down onto his hip and elbow.

"Ow!" he yelped, quickly picking himself up and reaching for his fallen briefcase. He tentatively hobbled a couple of steps, relieved his ankle didn't feel too sore. He rubbed his elbow gingerly, figuring he'd lost some skin there.

"Ow!" he muttered again. He sat down on a low wall and tried to regain some sense of composure. The throbbing from his ankle was a familiar one - this was certainly not his first sprain... but the added stinging sensation at his elbow, and an uncomfortable ache from his hip area were new unaccustomed additions to his pain threshold. Sam decided that sitting beside a construction site in the dark was not a good idea, either. He rose unsteadily. No longer feeling hungry, Sam concentrated on getting safely to his office.

* * *

"Why are you limping?" Leo's gravelly tone sliced through the empty hallway.

Sam jumped visibly and turned slowly to face Leo, who closed the gap between them.

"I..um..twisted my ankle on some rubble - you know, the building site for the Archive Facility."

"What the hell were you doing on a building site?"

Sam sighed exasperatedly, "I wasn't ON a building site, I was just walking past. And I'm not limping. I am hobbling slightly. I'm fine."

Leo's eyes narrowed, then he let it pass. "How did it go with the Robertson thing?"

Sam brightened, "Good. I think we've got something I can put on the table tomorrow - if I get started now."

"Well, get on with it. Why are you still standing here?"

"You stopped me!"

"Well, now I'm telling you to get going. And put some ice on that ankle."

Sam snorted and hobbled towards his own office.

* * *

"Hey, Spanky! I brough those files you needed." CJ placed the folders on the corner of Sam's desk. "And I brough you a present." She lifted a bucket onto the desk.

Sam leaned back in surprise, taking off his glasses, "You brough me a bucket?"

"And a towel." CJ moved around Sam's desk, dragging a chair with her. "Foot up here, Spanky."

Sam frowned at her. "Oh, come on, Sam! I just ran into Leo. Now, shoe off, foot up here."

Sam sighed. He leaned down and slowly unlaced his shoe. He tried to take it off but gasped in surprise at the pain. CJ sat in the second chair and pushed his hands away, lifting his foot onto her lap. She gently eased off Sam's shoe and began to roll down his sock. He writhed uncomfortably as she peeled the sock over his swollen ankle. CJ frowned at the redness. She tossed the towel into Sam's lap and handed the bucket across. Sam peered curiously inside.

"Ice!" he exclaimed.

"Fill the towel and pass it to me."

"Ceej, honestly, I'll be fine."

"Just do it." CJ shot him her most piercing glare. Paling at the mere sight of that, Sam obediently filled the towel with ice and passed it to her. CJ moulded the ice-filled towel into a sausage and gently pressed it around Sam's ankle. Sam stiffened in pain, a sharp breath hissing in between clenched teeth, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.

"Sorry, Sammy," CJ grimaced in sympathy. "It had to be done. Maybe you should get some x-rays or something."

Sam let out a long, shaky breath, "I'll be fine, Ceej. Thanks for the ice, though. I was trying to ignore it, hoping it might just go away." He shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

"Yeah, well, we know how well that works!" CJ snorted derisively. "Okay, I'm gonna stand up and move your leg to rest along this chair. Ready?"

* * *

Sam worked feverishly for a couple of hours. Toby had left at ten, and the Bullpen was finally peaceful. Sam had long since dumped the sodden towel into the bucket, but kept his still sore ankle elevated. He was more concerned about the sharp pains in his elbow and hip. He decided to get some coffee and raid Bonnie's aspirin stash. Sam slowly stood up, testing his ankle gingerly on the floor. It didn't feel too bad. Smiling triumphantly, Sam hobbled out of his office and over to Bonnie's desk. All of a sudden, a wave of pain shot through him. He felt a sweat break out on his forehead, and the room seemed to grow a little darker, as if someone had dimmed the lights. Sam froze in confusion. He wasn't going to make it back to his office. Deciding to sit down, Sam turned towards Bonnie's chair, but instead passed out, crashing forward, his forehead catching the corner of the desk.

Josh flung his pen down onto the desk. He stretched and yawned. There wasn't anything else that absolutely had to be done tonight. He stood up, and decided to see how Sam had got on with the pollutant issue. The corridors were pretty quiet at this time of night, when there was nothing big on. Josh strolled towards the Bullpen, whistling.

Sam was surprised to feel the sweat running down his face in large drops. He licked at a drip, fascinated at the saltiness. Realising he was lying on the floor, Sam opened his eyes, and was even more surprised to find himself surrounded by huge splotches of blood. Wiping his face, he looked in horror at his hands, which were also covered in blood. Sam felt muddled and confused. Why was he on the floor? Why was he bleeding? He sat up a little, but didn't seem to be able to do anything else.

Josh could see at a glance that Sam's office was empty. He was three paces into the Bullpen before he saw the blood, and Sam.

"Sam!" Josh fell to his knees beside his friend. Shocked at the rivulets of blood running down Sam's face, Josh looked around desperately for something to stem the flow.

"Josh!" Even with his eyes half-closed, Sam knew who was there. "There's a wet towel in a bucket in my office."

"Why is there...no, okay. I'll be right back." Josh darted into Sam's office, and found the bucket at once. He wrung out the towel and rushed back to Sam's side. Sam hadn't moved. Josh gently dabbed at the blood on Sam's face, and soon found a gash oozing redly at the top of his forehead. He pressed a pad of towel gently over the broken skin. Sam flinched and tried to pull away from the pressure, but Josh managed to get his other hand behind Sam's head and hold him still.

"What happened?"

"You tell me. I was just coming to see how your submissions were coming along. And I find you lying in a puddle of blood on the floor. What's going on?"

"I was looking for some aspirin..."

"You KNEW you were going to hurt your head?!"

Sam snorted gently. "I fell over earlier this evening. I was just getting some pain-killers, and coffee."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't explain the blood. What the hell did you do? Decide to beat yourself over the head with a stapler instead?"

Sam frowned, "I don't know. I felt all hot, then it got sort of dark...I I don't know..."

His voice trailed away in confusion. Josh helped Sam to sit up, keeping the pressure on his forehead.

"It sounds like you fainted. Your head must have hit something on the way down." He flicked out his cell-phone with his free hand, and hit the speed dial. "Hey, Leo. It's me. Can you come to the Bullpen for a minute?"

* * *

Josh and Sam sat in a cubicle in the Emergency Room. They chatted quietly about work for twenty minutes, then Josh looked carefully at Sam.

"How're you feeling?"

"A bit stupid really. And a bit fuzzy. I'm not the fainting type, you know. I don't think I've ever fainted."

"Yeah. Fainting's for girls! But seriously, Sam, do you think you're working too hard? I know you were tired. When I caught you day-dreaming in my office, I could tell you had a headache too. Do you need a break or something?"

"Oh, come on, Josh. We're all tired at the moment. And me having a headache is nothing out of the ordinary. No, it's just, I slipped over and sprained my ankle, and bruised my elbow, hip and dignity, on the way back to the West Wing from my meeting with Giannotti. Leo knew about the ankle thing."

"The bucket?"

"That was CJ. She brough in some ice and wrapped up my ankle."

"You've had a busy night."

A resident bustled in with a trolley of sterile instruments. Josh caught Sam's nervous expression.

"And the fun's not over yet!"

* * *

The stitches were no fun. Sam retched furiously into a container after the local anaesthetic, finally pleased he hadn't eaten after all. Josh maintained a running dialogue with the resident, leaving Sam to his own thoughts. Which were centred on the incomplete work on his desk for the pollutant submissions. How could he get back to the office after the doctor had finished with him? But he felt pretty tired, and more than a little shaken up. Would he be able to keep working? And Toby! Oh God, what would Toby say? Sam groaned miserably.

"Sam?"

"Huh?"

"You were moaning. Are you okay?"

"Sorry. I was just thinking about Toby, and what he's going to do to me if I don't get that work done tonight."

"Sam, no more work tonight. Anyway," Josh glanced at his watch, "it's tomorrow."

Sam groaned louder. The doctor stopped stitching and looked across at Josh. "Can you get him to keep still?"

"Is the Pope a Catholic?"

* * *

Sam hobbled across the hospital car-park, Josh with a guiding hand at the small of his back.

"Just five minutes, Josh." Sam's voice was pleading. "I just need to finish the paragraph I was writing. My computer is still on. And everyone expects the work to be finished."

"Not a chance, my bruised and battered buddy, you're going home to bed. Leo was going to shut everything down for the night. We'll deal with the work tomorrow, well, later this morning. Now shut-up and get in the car."

* * *

Toby sat in Leo's office furiously tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. "I just don't see how he could hurt himself so much in one evening" - he numbered off his fingers - "a sprained ankle..."

"Add injured elbow to the list. It's got a huge graze."

"That's two."

"And hip. You should see the enormous bruise that's just starting to show."

"Not a chance, Josh. But that's three."

"The head injury," put in CJ. "How many stitches did he get?"

"Five."

"That's four." Leo joined in.

"Maybe the stitches could count as a separate injury. They looked really painful."

"Josh!"

Toby decided to pick up Sam's work from his desk and finish it. Josh had insisted Sam stay in bed, and Sam really hadn't been able to argue with him. He had been tired and still rather confused at dawn, with a much worse headache than the one he'd received from Robertson's office the day before. His eyes were swollen, and it looked like he was going to have two black eyes as well. His sore hip and elbow had limited the ways he could lie in bed and when Josh had said no work, Sam was secretly relieved he didn't have to move.

Toby swept in and around Sam's desk, ready to nail the submissions before mid-morning.. There was a huge clatter and splash. Ginger and Bonnie appeared in the doorway as Toby shook one sopping foot at them. The fury emanating from his physical presence was electrifying.

"Who the hell left a bucket of water behind Sam's desk?"

End


	3. Stormy Day, A

**A Stormy Day**

**by:** Jen

**Character(s):** Sam, Josh, Toby  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** Drama  
**Rating:** CHILD  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  


It was the day after the huge convention. Leo, with unexpected and uncharacteristic generosity, had told everyone to sleep in and report to work by 9.30a.m. The closing speech had been a rousing success and they had celebrated, rehashing each session, until the early hours.

Sam lay in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He let his eyes stray across the familiar patterns of the plaster-work, faintly picking out a couple of new fractures seeping out from the light-fitting.

It was nearly 6a.m. Sam was really cross about the time. He had victoriously adjusted the alarm clock to 8.30 and had been looking forward to a long, deep sleep and a slow, luxurious, languid awakening. He had deliberately left the curtains open, anticipating the morning sun dapple leafy shadows across his bedroom wall. But now. It was still dark, it was 6a.m. - and it was raining. And he felt completely shattered. Totally, utterly exhausted. And wide awake.

Sam ground his teeth in frustration and rubbed angrily at his eyes with fierce stabs of his fingers. He rolled onto his side and hugged a pillow close in to his chest, dragging the duvet up over his ears. He closed his eyes, shuffling down into the most cosy, comfortable position he could find. He sighed heavily to relax himself, and tried to go back to sleep.

Over half an hour later, Sam gave up. He realised that his teeth were still clenched tightly, so he tried to release the tension. That sent a bolt of pain up past his temples. Sam gasped out loud. He gently wriggled the tightness out of his jaw, but it appeared the pain in his head had settled in, clamped in a tight band around his skull.

Groaning, Sam threw back the duvet tempestuously. He rolled out of bed and padded out to the kitchen for some aspirin. Early morning light was dull with the heaviness of the rain clouds hanging low in the sky. Sam eyed the thick, black blossoms of cloud rolling in from the coast. A storm was definitely closing in on D.C. And despite the breathtaking, awesome power of storms on the Atlantic Coast, Sam resented such storms for three reasons - they prevented him sailing (although he had no time anyway), they disrupted his already shaky sleep cycle, and they always seemed to give him monstrous headaches. Josh figured Sam was sensitive to the drop in pressure and rise in humidity, and Toby said Josh was an idiot. So Sam tried to appear fine on stormy days, to prevent THAT argument rearing its ugly head again.

All the same, this felt like a pretty horrible headache. Sam briefly contemplated taking the day off, curling up under the bedcovers for twenty-four hours. But he knew, even as that deliciously tempting thought hung in the air as heavy as the storm clouds outside, that he had to get on with the day. The final, fleeting, delectable image of not speaking to anyone for a whole day flickered tremulously and died.

Anyway, he had the peace speech to work on and that would require his full attention today. At least Toby had given him that much consideration... "I want to you on the Peace address next week."

"Sure."

"This could be very big, Sam."

"I'm aware of that, Toby. When hasn't-"

Toby had cut him off with an abrupt wave of his hand, "Take Wednesday. After the convention. No meetings. I want you to give it a really good start. Then we'll meet with the team Thursday, Friday. That gives you and me the weekend to nail it. You're getting all the preliminary notes in order?"...

Sam blinked heavily at the storm and turned on the cold tap forcefully. He hated the way pre-storm humidity seemed to taint the water. And for that, Josh had called HIM an idiot!

Sam swallowed down a couple of aspirin, then added a third for good measure. He resisted the urge to check the instructions on the box. He'd read them a hundred times before. He knew that two aspirin wouldn't cut it, and his commonsense told him three were not going to kill him. Still. He bit his lip, fingering the small box. Finally, disappointed in himself for a fleeting moment, Sam squinted at the small print, then sighed self-righteously. Knowing full well Josh and Toby would have sung the idiot chorus at this point, Sam put the box back in the cupboard, slamming the door - then instantly regretting that! He headed for the shower.

* * *

It was nearly 7.30a.m. when Sam appeared in the Bullpen. Ginger and Bonnie had been chatting amiably and they both started visibly at the sight of Sam.

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here, remember?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You were supposed to come in late."

"I'm in your way?"

"No, but-"

"Are you feeling all right?"

"You look tired."

Sam looked carefully from one to the other. He manufactured what he hoped was a winning Sam Seaborn smile, and turned towards his office. "I'm fine," he threw over his shoulder.

Ginger and Bonnie looked at one another - Bonnie rolled her eyes heavenward.

"He looks like he hardly slept at all."

Ginger shrugged, "Well, he's here early, so there's a good chance you're right. Give him a minute, then go see if he needs anything."

* * *

Sam sat down carefully at his desk and set up his laptop, research files, reference books, paper and pens. He polished his glasses, hesitating before sliding them on to his nose. Opening his folder of quotations, Sam felt the pressure of his headache push against his eyeballs. He settled for leaning back in his seat to read and plan, feet up on the corner of his desk, and there, fuelled by the coffee Bonnie delivered, he stayed for the next couple of hours.

At 9.30, Sam was musing over a quote from Sequiche, 'Once you have heard the meadowlark and caught the scent of fresh-plowed earth, peace cannot escape you.' He began to formulate the opening remarks, focusing on the President's farm in New Hampshire. He closed his eyes - his eyelids felt like lead weights above his cheekbones. Sam began to create the imagery of a solid, red-sided, white-framed barn nestling in a green valley, the far hills aglow with trees of every fiery hue of autumn glory. Reds, oranges - no, he mentally crossed out the list of colours. It was the silent, natural serenity he wanted to conjure up, to lead into people's desire for such moments of serenity in their own lives, and where we as a country could-

"Ahem!" The sound of Toby clearing his throat demolished Sam's beautiful New England image, and he snapped his eyes open, to find Toby leaning in the doorway and Josh reclining in one of the visitors' chairs.

"Hey, Sam." Josh was grinning. Sam lowered his feet from the desk and scrooched his chair in closer.

"And a good morning to you," added Josh.

"Ginger said you came in early." Toby was frowning. Josh flicked his eyes to Toby and back to Sam.

"Sam! I thought I was being really brave when I recommended you sleep in. You were shattered last night. You can't deny that." Josh was frowning as well.

Sam shrugged, uncomfortable under their scrutiny. Toby's phone began to ring. He looked at Josh pointedly as he backed out and turned into his own office. Sam peeled off his glasses and loosened his tie and collar, as Josh moved across to perch on the corner of the desk.

"Sam?"

'I just couldn't sleep, dammit. I really tried, Josh, I really wanted to..."

"So, how much sleep did you get?"

"I dunno. Four hours, maybe?" Sam glanced involuntarily at Toby's window to check he was still in there, before continuing, "And there's the storm."

"Headache?"

"You bet."

"You should document this - make some scientific or medical researcher happy."

"Yeah, well. I've got enough writing to do right here."

"The peace speech?"

"Mmmm."

Josh eyed Sam sympathetically, "Come round tonight. I'll buy dinner." He stood up, hands in pockets, watching Toby through the window. "The submissions start to come in today."

"I know."

"There's gonna be trouble."

"With CJ? No-one can control the submissions."

"You wanna discuss that with her?"

"Not on your life. The submissions can come and go today. I'm staying right here, where it's safe. And quiet." Sam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Did you take some pain-killers?"

Sam sighed. He scrubbed his hands across his face and tried not to sound irritated, "Yeah, yeah."

"When?"

"God, Josh, I don't know. 6.30, maybe?"

"Take some more. You really don't look so good." The rain lashed against the window with a sudden burst of fury. Both men started involuntarily, and turned to the storm, Josh stepping up to the window, Sam swinging his chair around. "It's really hitting us now."

"First real storm of the season."

They stared in silence for a moment at the fierce raindrops, cutting almost sideways until they splintered and smeared against the glass. Sam closed his eyes again, and felt Josh's cool hand run absently across his head, back and forth in a soothing gesture. Sam relaxed deeply into the chair. A contented sigh this time. He reached up and circled Josh's wrist with his thumb and forefinger. He pulled Josh's hand down and around, laying the palm against his cheek. There was a long peaceful moment.

"I'd better get on."

"Yeah. Give CJ my love. Tell her I'm in Bermuda."

"It won't be this office taking the heat."

* * *

"If you want peace, you don't talk to your friends. You talk to your enemies.' Sam mulled over how this concept could be incorporated into national policy, federal law even. He pictured hate groups linked by profiles of opposition, forced to meet regularly, under armed guard even, with the people they hated the most. To talk. Sam was a big believer in the power of the word.

Which made his own personal relationships so much more difficult. Sam couldn't bear to say something he didn't mean, but the keeping it inside meant he couldn't organise the framework for saying what he DID mean, and that left him surprisingly tongue-tied when he spoke to his father, or when CJ asked if he was okay, or when Josh took him into a warm embrace and whispered, 'What's wrong?'

Sam put the Moshe Dayan quote aside and shuddered. A gentle knock on the doorframe brough Ginger and Bonnie to his desk, smiling conspiratorially.

"Hey, Sam, we thought you looked..." Bonnie stopped, suddenly nervous. Ginger took over,

"Well, we just decided, well, you deserve a reward for working so hard today." Sam eyed them warily.

"A reward?" Sam slipped his glasses off, perplexed. Bonnie produced a bottle of water and a roll of life-savers, and Ginger handed him a box of double strength aspirin topped with a red bow. Sam kept his eyes on the bow, embarrassed for a moment. Then he looked up at them both and smiled warmly.

"Thanks."

"Okay. Uh, Sam, the submissions are starting to come in."

"Like I told Josh, if CJ comes by, I'm in Bermuda."

They both turned and headed out of the office. Ginger paused at the door, frowning back at him, "Sam?"

"I'm fine."

"Take the aspirin."

Sam snorted and picked up his pen. The pain he had been trying to ignore seemed to intensify on being given a little attention. Putting his pen down again, Sam massaged his scalp, working down to his temples. Realising the futility of this, he peeled the bow off the box and tried to read the instructions. With a frustrated huff, he picked up his glasses and pushed them back onto his nose.

* * *

Sam pondered on how the balance of power weighed between the people and the Government, whether the President could offer the people the chance to find a solution for peace at home. He rifled through his reference file and unearthed a quotation from Eisenhower, 'I like to believe that people in the long run are going to do more to promote peace than our governments. Indeed, I think that people want peace so much that one of these days governments had better get out of the way and let them have it.'

Sam picked up his pen, and wrote a trial line, 'If you want peace in this country, step forward and say so. Keep meeting. Keep holding rallies. Keep marching. Keep telling your mayors, your senators, your congressmen, your President, that YOU WANT PEACE. If you want peace here in the United States of America, BRING IT ON!'

Sam sat back and reread the line. He smiled slightly. Toby should like the verbs! And just then, it was Toby's voice he could hear, that rumbling, 'don't push me too far today' tone. Sam looked up in surprise and could see CJ standing in front of Toby's desk, hands on hips. Sam wondered how long she'd been there. Her voice rose to match Toby's tension,

"I just don't see why we have to give ANY time to these nutcases. The vast majority of them stopped making sense in the 7th grade. Their arguments are ridiculous."

"Everyone is entitled to an opinion."

"Not on this Bill. It's too important for women's rights." CJ's voice kept rising. "These submissions are going to either hold it back, or water it down to some weak, weasel's piss, toothless bill of nothing!"

"This is a democracy, in case you have forgotten." Toby stood up, shoving his chair back, and he was shouting, too. "If we fail to give the people of this country the chance to express their opinions, then we might as well put a lid on the whole thing and call ourselves a DICTATORSHIP!"

"Well, maybe women would get a better chance there." CJ was practically spitting . Toby roared, "YOU CAN'T MEAN THAT!"

"I'll mean whatever I damn well please!" CJ spun around and swept out of Toby's office, and out of the Bullpen.

Sam's eyes had followed CJ. He knew better that to look at Toby now. He fixed his eyes on his papers and picked up a pen, pretending to write. It was all of ten seconds before Toby stormed into Sam's office and slammed the door. Sam winced visibly and put a hand to his head. Toby paced angrily across the floor for a moment, then threw himself into one of the chairs. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, back and forward in angry strokes. Sam took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair, still smarting from the loud bang of the door. He could see Toby needed someone to sound off to, and although he was pleased when Toby chose him, today he really wished it could have been someone else.

"So," he began conversationally, trying to still a slight tremor in his voice, "that was CJ."

"That crazy woman!" exploded Toby. "She's at me to overlook hundreds of submissions from the public, in order to push through a very acceptable Bill that will probably NOT CHANGE NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE HAS TO SAY!" Toby stopped himself, realising he was shouting again, and noticing that Sam had squeezed his eyes shut, hands gripping the arms of his chair. He faltered a little, before changing to a very quiet, "Sam?"

He could see the furrow between Sam's eyebrows and only now noticed the paleness of his features. "Sam?" he tried again.

Sam unclenched his eyes and blinked rapidly at Toby, attempting to get his vision back into focus.

"Sorry." He ignored Toby's concerned gaze. "Toby, I'm sure CJ'll think about what went on in there." He waved a vague hand in the direction of Toby's office.

"Yeah." Toby sighed. "Eventually. Sam, you look a little-"

"I'm fine, really."

Toby decided to change tack, "How's the speech going?"

"I'm getting things into groups reasonably well. We should be able to farm out a section to each teamster and then bring 'em back together after a couple of hours."

"Good." There was another blast of wind-driven rain against the window. "Some storm."

"Yeah."

Toby stood up abruptly and headed for the door. "I'd better talk to Leo before CJ hits the Briefing Room!" He snorted loudly and was gone, leaving the door open. Sam let out a deep breath, suddenly aware he had been half holding his breath the whole time Toby was in the room. Toby did that to him sometimes. So did people shouting. In fact, any tension seemed to interfere with his breathing rhythm. Sam listened to the wind. The storm gave him a headache, Toby and CJ arguing mucked up his breathing - was he so sensitive to the forces around him? And wouldn't it be nice to work somewhere where there were no storms, natural or human? Somewhere peaceful...

Oops! That brough Sam back to his work - peace. He snorted derisively, and picked up his pen. He needed to grapple with some useful metaphors in case they were required. Sam adored Martin Luther King's effective use of numerous metaphors in a single speech, more than they would dream of including for this President. Sam dawdled over weather words - he liked King's 'This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom.' He began to write about 'a winter of unrest at home and abroad, leading towards a bright, new spring of new life, new partnerships, new freedom in the assurance that we have begun to make peace with our enemies'. He leaned back in his chair and reread that one a couple of times. He decided to keep it, try it out on Ed and Larry tomorrow.

Sam worked on for a while longer, concentrating deeply, and was totally surprised when Josh appeared in the doorway and asked him if he'd had lunch.

"Now?!"

"It's 1.30, Sam. I've been up on the Hill for two hours, and I'm starving. Come down to the Mess?"

"Okay."

As they walked downstairs, Josh eyed Sam speculatively, weighing up the pros and cons of addressing the state of his head. He decided to bide his time. He could tell, just by a glance, Sam was in trouble, but mentioning it at this point would bring certain denial and probable irritation on Sam's part. "So, did CJ have a blow-out?"

"Yep."

"At Toby?"

"You bet! Then he came in and yelled at me for a bit. Then he went to see Leo, and I haven't spoken to any of them since. Thank God."

"How's the writing going?" They walked into the Mess. Sam looked at the food and felt his stomach lurch.

"Uh, I don't think I can eat right now. Can you just get me some juice?"

Josh looked at him worriedly, "Sure. Go find us a quiet table." He joined Sam a moment later, plonking a sandwich as well as juice in front of his friend. Before Sam could protest, Josh held up a hand, "Sam, you can't take aspirin all day on an empty stomach. You know that, in fact it's usually you lecturing me! So eat."

There was a companionable silence for a few minutes. Josh then talked about his meeting that morning, trying to get a problem sorted with a senator whose campaigning in the red light district of his home town was drawing way too much negative attention. Sam picked at his sandwich obediently. Finally Josh sat back with his coffee and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Sam.

"I'm fine." Sam mused it was like a mantra now. I'm fine. I'm fine. He'd like to add leave me alone, but knew that wasn't really fair. Everyone around him really did care.

Josh sipped his coffee. He felt he was becoming an expert on Sam's ability to avoid answering personal questions - he could submit a paper entitled 'Handling Sam'. Actually, he grinned to himself, that sounded a bit rude!

"What?"

"Hmm?"

Sam was staring. "Why are you grinning?"

Josh reddened, "Nothing!"

"You're blushing! What the hell were you thinking about?"

"Just you." Josh grinned anew. "Now, tell me how you really feel. Truly."

Sam's blue eyes dropped to the table. "Pretty awful. I can't shake this headache. And people keep yelling. And the storm..." Sam waved a vague hand in the direction of the outdoors.

"I'm sorry. Look, Sam, why don't you head home? Take the afternoon off, get some rest. Take a look in the mirror. You're pale, drawn, tired. No-one expects you to work like this."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sipped at his juice. "Maybe I could leave a bit earlier, like 5 or something. I really need to give this a couple more hours."

"Go back to my place. Crash there for few hours. I'll be home later with dinner."

Sam smiled weakly, "Thanks, Josh." They both stood up and headed back upstairs. As Sam entered the Bullpen he could hear raised voices again. Ginger had her head down and Bonnie was nowhere to be seen. Toby's door was closed, and the noise was definitely emanating from that place.

"Ginger?"

Ginger looked up. "Hey, Sam. It's Leo, CJ and Toby. They've been at it for five minutes." Sam knew this was a fairly long period for Leo to stop anywhere. He considered going somewhere else, but knew he needed to keep working. He headed straight for his desk and sat down, never even glancing at the office next-door. He picked up his pen and tried to focus on the next section of the speech. However, it was almost impossible to ignore the snatches of angry discussion,

"I'm a professional, I don't need Toby deciding if I'm capable of addressing the Press."

"We have a moral obligation to fulfill the requirements of a democracy."

"You two need to be locked up together in a padded room?"

Sam grimaced. His head really ached. He peeled the foil off two more of Ginger's super-killer pain-killers and swallowed them down with Bonnie's water. He felt the sandwich from lunch lurch about inside and hoped he wasn't going to throw up. He really hated that. The shouting rose again,

"...can't get my job done while you two are at it hammer and tongs."

"We can't have every bill evaluated on a personal level."

Sam gave up any pretence of work. He closed his eyes, and laid his head down on folded arms on his desk. He breathed shallow breaths between his teeth, willing his churning stomach to be still, and his pounding head to be quiet. The rain continued to strike his window, but at least the storm in Toby's office seemed to have subsided again. Sam felt the need for sleep overpowering him. He couldn't seem to lift his head and, without even realising it, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was nearly six. Josh had talked to Leo and was free to take Sam home. By now, all the Senior Staff were aware of how Sam had been feeling. Josh stopped by Bonnie's desk, watching Sam's still form through the open door, head still bent over folded arms.

"I'm going to take him home."

"Thank goodness. He had a pretty tough day. But he tries so hard to not let us see how he's feeling. It's so hard to help him."

"I know all about it. It's just the way Sam is. Thanks, though, Bonnie." Josh inclined his head towards Toby's closed door, where CJ could be seen sitting next to Toby on the couch. Both had their heads down. "Everything okay in there now?"

"They're actually looking over some of the submissions...together." "CJ wanted to do that?"

"Leo's idea."

"Aah." They watched CJ lean towards Toby with a page. Both of them crackled with quiet laughter. "Leo's a smart guy." Josh turned towards Sam again.

Bonnie smiled warmly. "Take good care of him."

"I will."

Josh headed into Sam's office, turning on the desk-lamp before gently shaking Sam's shoulder. He smoothed his hand across Sam's head as he felt the other man begin to stir. Sam lifted his head and blinked blearily at Josh.

"What time is it?" he croaked. "Did I fall asleep?"

"It's time to go home." Josh held up Sam's suit jacket. "How's the head?" Sam stretched wearily and glanced at his watch. His eyes widened in shock.

"Josh! It's six o'clock!" Sam stood up slowly, a worried look in his eyes. "Did Toby..." Sam couldn't finish that awful thought.

"Toby, and everyone else, wants you to go home now. And I get to take you. So, give me your keys, put on your jacket and coat, and let's go." Sam realised Josh was already in his coat, backpack slung over one shoulder. He glanced at the window. It was dusk. White clouds billowed across a lavender sky. Sam turned to Josh in surprise.

"Yeah." Josh could read Sam like a book sometimes. "The storm has blown over. Let's go home." He flung an arm around Sam's shoulder and steered him towards the door.

End


	4. Avoidance

**Avoidance**

**by:** Jen

**Character(s):** Sam, Josh, Toby  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** Drama  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** Sam has a problem with avoidance

Monday Sam stood in the middle of the crowded shopping mall, feeling confused. What did he need to buy? He turned in a slow circle, trying to focus on each store, hoping that would jog his memory. Nothing looked familiar, and his supposedly slow turn wasn't helping -- store-fronts seemed to blur into one another, reds merging into greens, windows melting into doorways. Feeling panicky, Sam stopped turning and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt ridiculous and somewhat vulnerable standing still, eyes closed, in a busy shopping mall. He could feel the press and throng of the people around him. He opened his eyes again and, spying an empty bench, stumbled over and sat down. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, Sam closed his eyes again and buried his face in his hands. He could feel anxiety fluttering throughout his body and his ears were singing.

After a few moments, Sam felt calmer. He looked up and drew in a sharp breath of surprise -- Josh was walking past, not his usual swagger but the tense, hurried walk Sam had noticed lately. Sam opened his mouth to call out, but he couldn't get his voice to respond -- a dry croak spluttered out instead. And Josh had gone.

Sam leaned back in desperate frustration and ran a hand through his hair. Someone sat down heavily beside him. Sam flicked an irritated glance sideways and his mouth dropped open. The President was reclining back on the bench, twirling a huge, unlit cigar between his fingers.

"So, Sam, what's next?"

Sam gasped out loud and sat up in bed, his eyes staring wildly into the darkness. Dragging in deep, ragged breaths, Sam could feel his heart thundering against his sternum. Still sitting and blinking in the dark, Sam drew his knees up and hugged them tightly, resting his chin on his knees, rocking himself back and forth in an attempt to soothe his screaming nervous system.

After a few minutes, Sam lifted his face and glanced at the digital clock -- 1.30a.m. He'd only been asleep for an hour or so. Sam pressed his eye-sockets against his knees in irritation. This was his third bad dream, or maybe nightmare, in as many nights. It wasn't the content of the dreams that was particularly scary -- it was the way his body seemed to react, throwing him into a complete, physical, gasping whirlpool. And they had all featured an unreachable Josh.

Feeling a knot of tension inside, Sam reached out a shaky hand and switched on the lamp. He picked up his book and glasses, and nestled back into the pillows to read.

* * *

The Bullpen was still quiet at 7a.m. Sam yawned widely and tried to keep his attention on the Freedom Riders of 1961. He needed all the background material he could get if the President was to successfully negotiate a wade in the murky waters of equality issues. "We are confronted primarily with a moral issue. It is as old as the Scriptures and is as clear as the American Constitution." Sam liked that. He liked the Constitution, and he felt it always scored well, bringing it up in a speech. "The heart of the question is whether all Americans are to be afforded equal rights and equal opportunities, whether we are going to treat our fellow Americans as we want to be treated." Good -- Sam sat back, tapping his pen against the edge of his desk. A JFK quote that wasn't gender exclusive. Sam liked this particular television address of Kennedy's -- 1961 must have been an incredibly exciting time to be in the White House. A movement in the corridor beyond the Bullpen caught Sam's eye, and he glimpsed Josh's blurred profile for a second before he swept around the corner. Sam took off his glasses and frowned at the space that had contained Josh for a moment. He heaved a huge, disgruntled sigh and decided to get a coffee.

* * *

Josh chucked his backpack on a chair and practically ripped his overcoat off, flinging it carelessly in the direction of the coathook. It missed, crumpling into a sad heap by the bookcase. Josh was angry. With himself, with Leo, with Sam Godammit. Good, earnest, sincere Sam, sitting there in his office working on the equal rights address. Josh huffed derisively. He had been against this address from the beginning, certain it would do no good at this particular, fragile stage of the Presidency. Josh wanted to wait. And he certainly did not want the speech to be part of the trip South. No way. And he had halfway convinced Leo last week. Sam hadn't known that, of course. Josh didn't want Sam to know. Sam thought this was a big one, and of course it could be. But Josh didn't want it to go wrong either. Not now. Not there. So he'd spent the week working on Leo and avoiding Sam.

And that -- that was hard. Josh felt like an armoured tank being shot at by a sniper. As powerful as he was -- Deputy Chief of Staff, for God's sake -- trying to avoid getting close up and personal with Sam for a week was chipping away at his outer shell, bit by bit. Josh was accustomed to locking eyes with Sam during meetings. They often looked up at one another at the exact same moment, blue meeting brown with clear communication, no words or gestures necessary. So it had been really hard to keep his eyes averted just when he felt that momentary pull towards Sam. And just once, on Thursday, he had glanced across at Sam a moment later, seen his eyes downcast, a concerned furrow between his eyebrows. And Josh knew in that split second, with magnificent crystal clarity, that Sam had realised Josh was avoiding him.

But Sam didn't ask why. He left that meeting quickly, lips pressed firmly together in a straight line, eyes looking nowhere but at the door. And ever since then Josh knew Sam had waited. For Josh to come to him. And he was still working on the crummy equality speech, because Leo was maybe wavering, but the President was keen. And Toby thought it was a good opportunity, to get more publicity in an area where Bartlet sometimes failed to nail 'em. And Toby wasn't worried about the type of publicity for once. They'd had THAT argument on Friday, in Leo's office, without Sam...

"We can't do it there, Toby. We don't have Martin Luther King out there turning the President's words into some real-life, on-the-road drama."

"What the hell, Josh?"

"Let me, Leo." Toby turned flashing eyes towards Josh. "King was out there because the NEED was out there. People were not treated equally then, and they're not today either. We have to address it in THIS administration. I have to address it. It's vital, it's necessary. And yes, it's a pain in the ass. But we can't leave it out. Not in this term. Not while I'm Director of Communications."

"We're seen as liberal enough already. This could push us over the edge. We're fragile right now."

"The edge of what? Human rights? Fair treatment and a call for equality could leave us teetering on some imaginary cliff-top but there's no road out of there. This IS the place to do this."

"No way, Toby. We're not strong enough."

"Are you going to tell the President that?"

"If I have to."

"Sam's more than halfway through. It'll be a good speech."

"I don't care if Sam's engraved it in gold on a diamond-studded platter, it's NOT THE TIME!"

"Josh," Leo attempted an unfamiliar, placatory tone, "maybe we can swing this..."

"Dammit, Leo. You too?"

"Are you really thinking through the pros and cons? I want you to go away and give this some time. We'll talk again Monday."

"Leo-"

"Monday, Josh."

Josh turned angrily towards the door. Toby cleared his throat, "Aah, Josh....diamond-studded?!?"

"Shut the hell up, Toby!" Josh slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Sam sipped at his coffee as he took another look at the Kennedy speech. "We preach freedom around the world, and we mean it. And we cherish our freedom here at home." Sam inserted that quote at the top of his notes. He heard the bustle that was Toby arriving in the Bullpen, coat rustling, umbrella flapping, a bundle of newspapers all vying for attention. Sam took his coffee with him and followed Toby, sitting back on the couch as Toby settled in at his desk.

"Hey, Toby."

"Sam. Good morning. How's it coming?"

"I think that it's -- " Sam paused, unsure of Toby's reaction.

"What?"

"Well," Sam began slowly, "it's leaning more towards a central theme of freedom than equality." He carried on with a rush, "It, it, it's not losing the essential message, but it just seems to rest better with the results we want, and the ultimate goal might be more rewarding, what with all the unrest overseas..." Sam trailed off, and focused on finishing his coffee.

Toby was nodding quietly, but frowning at the same time. "Have you still got much to do?"

Sam nodded and yawned hugely. "Yeah. But what do you think? About the theme?" 

"I like it. When can I read something?"

"Lunchtime tomorrow, maybe?" Sam yawned again.

"Why are you so tired? It's Monday morning."

"Huh?"

"You keep yawning."

"Just need some more coffee." Sam waggled his now-empty cup.

"Are you sleeping?" Toby knew now how fragile Sam's sleep cycle could be.

"God! Yes! What time is Senior Staff?"

Toby glanced at his watch, "Now." Sam ducked next-door to get his notebook. Josh was already in Leo's office, making rapid notes all over a memo when they arrived. He didn't even look up. Sam settled for leaning casually against the bookcase. Leo moved rapidly through the important events of the day.

"Who's up on the Hill with Castle today?"

"Sam."

"What time?" Leo's gaze shifted to Sam.

"We start at two."

"Could be a long afternoon."

"I know."

"You ready?"

Sam shrugged, "As ready as I can be." He yawned loudly. Josh looked up at that, very briefly catching Sam's eye before looking down at his notes, as if dismissing him again.

Leo frowned. "You can take off now, Sam. I need to talk to Toby." There was no mention of the fact that Josh was even in the room. Sam shrugged again, peeled himself off the bookcase and left them to it.

* * *

It was close to 8p.m. when Sam arrived back in the West Wing. His eyes felt like someone had removed his eyeballs, rolled them in sand and added a dash of chlorine before reinserting them in his eye-sockets. He smiled tiredly at Ginger and moved over to Toby's doorway. Toby was leaning back at his desk, lit only by soft lamp, reading a huge report. Sam leaned on the doorjamb.

"Hey."

"Sam. How'd it go?" Sam wandered in, and flopped down on the couch, resting his briefcase beside him on the cushions.

"It was good." Sam sighed tiredly, and yawned. "Can I write this up tomorrow? I'm really beat."

Toby raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sam had just admitted, out loud, without any prompting, that he was tired.

"Uh, yeah, of course. You sure you're all right?" Toby peered at Sam across the semi-darkened office, still stunned by Sam's revelation. "Are you sick?"

"No, of course not. I, ah, " Sam waved a hand vaguely in the air, as if reaching for the conversation they'd had that morning, "I um maybe didn't sleep so well last night. I just need to catch up."

"Sure. Go." Toby waved him off, still frowning. Sam, the star all-nighter, needed a catch-up after one poor sleep? Something wasn't quite right there. And there was the thing with Josh. Toby hadn't seen Josh in the Bullpen for a week, and he was usually in and out several times a day, joking with Sam. Toby glanced up at the window. Sam was putting things in his briefcase. Against his better judgement, Toby stood up and walked into Sam's office.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Toby?"

"Where's Josh?"

"Josh?"

"Yes. Where's. Josh."

"I -- I don't know."

"Okay." Toby went back into his own office, perplexed. Sam always knew where Josh was, at just about any time of the day or night.

* * *

Donna leaned in Josh's doorway. "I'm off now."

"Okay."

"Oh, and Sam's back."

"Sam?"

"Yes, Sam. Why don't you go talk to him."

"Why do I need to talk to him?"

"Because you've been avoiding him for days."

"I have not! I'm really busy at the moment."

"Liar!"

"Donna!"

"I don't know what's wrong, but you of all people should know better than to do that to Sam."

Josh dropped his head to the desk. "Shit! Go home, Donna."

"I'm just saying..."

"Go!" Donna went.

* * *

Tuesday Sam groaned aloud, rubbing his tired eyes. He had just finished typing up his meeting on the Hill from yesterday. He hit 'save' and 'print' for Toby, then set to organising his notes on the equality-cum-freedom address. It was time to focus on some 'action' phrases that could be used towards the end of the speech. He looked at something RFK had used in his first public address as Attorney General, "We will not stand by or be aloof. We will move." Sam was planning that Bartlet's address would be moving and powerful. He knew Toby would agree. Toby didn't let it show very often, but he was fiercely committed to issues of equality and human rights. He flicked back quickly to a quote he really wanted to use from the JFK speech, "Those who do nothing are inviting shame as well as violence. Those who act boldly are recognising right as well as reality." Those who act boldly -- act boldly -- Sam was a true believer in acting boldly, defiantly even, if the time and occasion were right. Leo would attest grimly to that! He loved the idea of this administration being seen as one that did act, that made a difference, that really cared for the people. He picked up his pen, "This is a period in time, in this country, where anyone should be free to try for any job, if they have the qualifications, where any family should be able to work towards having a good home, and not have their dreams die in a crowded room in a ghetto of poverty. We want to see every child get a fair and equal education with strong teachers in safe classrooms..."

Sam stopped writing as he was beset by a fit of huge yawns. His eyes watered dreadfully. He dropped his glasses to the desk and buried his eyes in a handkerchief.

He had slept a little better the previous night -- no real nightmares. He had had no sleeping pills so had swallowed four aspirin before turning out the light and had been zonked for several hours. He'd awakened with a start just after three, desperately thirsty, and had settled for quiet reading until the alarm at five. He still felt enormously exhausted, and coffee wasn't making any difference any more. It just gave him a headache.

Senior Staff that morning had been brimming with tension. Sam had no idea why. Leo had asked him how the address was coming along, Sam had said Good, Toby had mentioned he was hoping to look at a draft by lunch-time, and Josh had chucked his pen on the table, folded his arms and remained stony silent for the rest of the meeting. He still wasn't looking at Sam. Sam could feel Josh's avoidance sharp as a steel knife, slashing him slowly into pieces. He needed Josh -- being opposites in so many ways helped them to come together so mysteriously and yet successfully! Like jigsaw pieces, they both saw the overall picture more clearly when they were together. And now Sam felt fractured and alone, like the jigsaw piece that had slid under the rug.

"Crying over the speech isn't going to cut it, Sam." Ginger brough in some files and typing. "Can you sign these?" She held out a pile of letters. Sam wiped his eyes and reached for his glasses.

"Sam, you look tired. Can I get you a coffee or something?"

He picked up his fountain pen and started to sign the letters. "I dunno, I think I'm going to give up coffee." Ginger's eyes widened. "Just for this morning."

"Sure, Sam." Ginger smiled sympathetically. "I'll get you a cup of tea."

Three hours later, Sam delivered his first draft of the equality address to Toby.

* * *

That night, Sam had a long, hot shower, much longer and hotter than usual, then crawled into bed. Leaving the lamp on this time, Sam pulled the duvet up over his head and tried to relax. It hurt just to close his scratchy eyes. Trouble was, his breathing kept speeding up and he could feel nervous flutters of tension passing through his body every few minutes, leaving his brain whirling. He tried slow, relaxing breaths, letting his body sink deeply into the mattress. He thought back over Toby's parting words on Monday night, asking for Josh. He knew it was a test and knew he'd failed miserably.

Sam rolled over on his side in irritation and curled up. So what about Josh? So Josh was plotting some thing Sam, yet again, needed to be protected from. So Josh was avoiding him. So WHAT? Sam flipped angrily over to the other side, knotting the duvet around his limbs. Why should he care so much? Why did he let these things GET to him? Let go, let go, let go. Sam rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It had to be this speech. Josh must be against it. But this President was kind of like JFK. He really did care for the people. Didn't he? Didn't Josh care? Sam faced off with the hard brick wall of the political mind.

He decided to get a drink of water. He found himself completely entwined in the duvet. He ripped it off fiercely and stormed into the bathroom. Returning somewhat calmer, Sam threw himself face down onto the bed, pulling the duvet over his head, and tried to get to sleep.

At 2a.m. Sam found himself blinking, gasping, in the darkness, sitting on the floor amidst the debris of his fallen bedside cabinet, smashed lamp, knotted duvet, and ragged remains of any sense of sanity. He had been in the mall again and had tried to follow a fast-moving Josh from level to level. Finally closing in on a down escalator, Josh had suddenly disappeared then reappeared on the opposite up-escalator. Sam had scrabbled desperately to cross from one to the other, and had lost his footing, and...

Sam shook his head crossly, instantly regretting it. He raised one hand and found a goose-egg rising on one side of his forehead. He felt like a stupid child. He backed carefully out of the wreckage and crossed over to the bathroom. Blinking in the bright light, he brushed away untidy hair to reveal a red swelling. Sam looked at his pale, ragged reflection for a moment, irritated no end by the lack of sleep, the mess behind him in the bedroom, the bump on the head, and, most irritating of all, the nightmares. He headed to the kitchen for a brush and shovel and an icepack.

* * *

Wednesday Ginger stopped Toby as he bustled in the following morning. "Can you do something with Sam?"

Toby gave her an odd look, "Why would I want to do anything with Sam?"

"He just doesn't look very well." Toby harrumphed and dumped his newspapers and bag on Ginger's desk. He walked over to Sam's door and took a look. Sam was at his desk, head leaning on one hand. His tie was loosely knotted, collar undone -- very odd for Sam to look like that at 7a.m. Toby coughed uncomfortably, causing Sam to look up in surprise.

"Oh. Hey, Toby." Toby frowned at Sam's greeting, as he drew closer to the desk. Sam was frighteningly pale, deep shadows around his eyes, which were red-rimmed and hooded with heavy lids. His hair was strewn across his forehead in untidy streaks, failing even so to hide the angry red bump on his forehead. Toby fixed Sam with his darkest glare. 

"Go home."

"What? But I..."

"Go home now. Come back when you've had some sleep."

"Toby, I slept."

"Crap! Go!" He turned and raised his voice, "Bonnie, Sam's going home for a while."

"Toby-"

"No, maybe you shouldn't even drive. Wait there." And Toby was gone. Sam looked at Bonnie with consternation. She shrugged at him, "I'll cancel the morning stuff anyway."

Toby appeared suddenly behind Donna. "Where's Josh?"

"He's not here. He's at a breakfast meeting."

"Damn!"

Toby swept back into the Bullpen. He was still wearing his overcoat. "Sam, c'mon, let's go!"

Sam was still sitting at his desk. "No, Toby, really, I'm fine."

"You look like the walking dead."

"I'm not going home!" Sam stood up and walked to the doorway. "Really, I'm fine," he reiterated. Toby moved his things from Ginger's desk.

"In my office, then. You're gonna talk."

Sam sighed in frustration, and then followed Toby inside. He sat down on the couch, leaning his head back, suddenly feeling the weariness he was trying to hide. It was like heavy blanket, dulling everything around him. Toby cleared his throat nervously. He hated this sort of situation. But he couldn't ignore his pale, bedraggled deputy either.

"So. Why aren't you sleeping?" "I AM sleeping."

Toby exploded, "For God's sake, Sam, take a look in the mirror."

"Okay, okay." Sam held up a hand. "I am having a bit of trouble." He stopped, not wanting to say any more.

Toby glanced at his watch. "I need to talk to Leo about something. Lie down here for an hour, get some rest before Staff. All right?" It really wasn't a question. Sam nodded nervously. Then Toby was gone, shutting the door behind him. Sam let his eyes close. He really was so tired.

* * *

Bonnie's head popped up. "Was that Sam?"

"Yeah, but he's calling for Josh." Ginger stopped typing.

"Josh isn't here." Bonnie walked over to Toby's door and opened it a little. Her worried glance back at Ginger brough her over as well. They peeped in the door. Sam was curled up on the couch, his head switching from side to side in a desperate way, his brow furrowed. "Josh, wait." He was breathing fast, practically panting, wringing his hands nervously.

Bonnie looked at Ginger, "He's having a bad dream." Sam cried out something unintelligible.

"I'd say it's a nightmare." Ginger eased past Bonnie and crouched down beside Sam. She placed a careful hand over his entwined ones, and smoothed her other hand across his forehead.

"Sam, Sam." Her voice was low, but firm. "Wake up." Sam's eyes burst open and the blueness bored into Ginger's eyes for a moment, panic mounting, then slowing as Sam realised who was there. He scrubbed a hand across his face. Ginger still had one hand across his forehead, somehow centring him.

"It's okay. You just fell asleep for a few minutes."

"Did I-"

"It's okay. Would you like a glass of water?"

"I'm fine."

"You get some more rest, okay?"

"Yeah." Sam closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. Ginger slowly moved her hand away and stood up. She and Bonnie slipped back out to the Bullpen.

"Wow!" Bonnie was staring at Ginger. "You handled that well."

Ginger smiled, "My brother used to have nightmares. We shared a room, so I became the expert." They settled back to work in peace for a while.

"Toby." Ginger stood up and indicated Toby follow her into Sam's office. She shut the door behind them, then turned to look at Sam through the office window.

"What is it?"

"He had a nightmare. I, well, I think he's been having them for a few days. He's exhausted."

"A nightmare? Ginger, he's a grown man."

"Adults have nightmares, Toby. And by the way, it was about Josh." Ginger was still looking through the window.

"What was?"

"The nightmare. Sam was trying to catch up to Josh." She turned to Toby, but he was already out the door and heading out of the Bullpen at full pace.

"Is he back?"

"He's in his office."

Toby strode into Josh's office and closed the door, then leaned against it. Josh looked up in surprise. Toby couldn't help but notice that he looked strained as well.

"Hey, Toby."

"You made a joke once."

"Just once?"

"You made a joke once about Sam."

"I make a lot of jokes about Sam."

"Just listen, will you? About Sam being ill, and Lisa, and having nightmares one time."

"Sam's had plenty of nightmares." Josh sighed and sat back, suddenly ready to talk to someone, even Toby. "Sam internalises things. He tries so hard to be in control, always on top of things -- he agonises endlessly over even admitting he's sick or tired to ME, let alone anyone else. He locks his feelings up inside. Those feelings have to get out somehow, so they build up like a pressure cooker until his huge, complicated brain gets them all jumbled up and churns them out in an ugly fashion under cover of darkness. We've shared sleeping spaces often enough, trust me, he's a danger in the bed. It's like sleeping with an overactive octopus!"

Toby stared at Josh in stunned silence, trying to fathom everything Josh had just laid on the table. Josh stared back for a moment before his quick mind leapt to the correct conclusion,

"He's having nightmares." Josh slumped back in his chair.

"Yeah. Tell me about the other time. With Lisa."

Josh sighed. "Lisa had been angry at Sam for working through some important book launch she had organised. She gave him the cold shoulder, didn't speak to him over a whole weekend, and well into the week. He had a bad cold, and by Wednesday was running a huge fever and coughing like a steam train. Not really knowing what he was doing, and being incredibly upset about Lisa ignoring him, he left the office at lunchtime, (and I'm talking about Gage Whitney in New York) and caught a flight to D.C. Turned up in my office late afternoon a complete wreck, barely able to breathe, unwilling to tell me anything. I had to take him to a doctor, who diagnosed a severe chest infection. We collected pills and potions and I took him to my place. I phoned his office, which had no idea where he'd gone, then I left a message at Sam's place. You know, she never even called back until Friday night." Josh paused, reminiscing. "Man, she could bear a grudge."

"The nightmares?"

"Oh, yeah. That night, we were both asleep and suddenly I get this smack in the face. I look at Sam in surprise but he's still asleep, thrashing and crying and calling out for Lisa to 'just listen' and 'please talk to me' over and over. I thought it might have been the fever. He woke up really upset. It took me ages to calm him down, then the same thing happened two hours later. I was ready to take him to the hospital. Panic breathing and a chest infection are a really bad mix! And then this went on through Thursday night as well. Sam was a wreck. Friday morning, I took the day off, he finally broke down and told me what Lisa had-" Josh stopped suddenly, paling noticeably. "Oh God!"

"Josh?"

"Oh God!"

"You all right?"

"No. Uh, Toby, I've gotta go see Sam."

"About bloody time."

* * *

"No calls!" Josh flung at Bonnie. "Please," he added with a weak grin, remembering Bonnie wasn't Donna. He headed straight into Sam's office, shut the door and tweaked the blinds shut, effectively shutting out the activity of the Bullpen. Sam had looked up in surprise and was still staring. Without really looking at Sam, Josh grabbed a chair and dragged it up around Sam's desk and sat down, right beside a very curious Sam.

"Uh, hey, Josh."

Josh took a very deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked right at Sam for the first time in nearly ten days, and a huge shudder rippled through his body. He could see immediately the miserable state Sam was in. He opened and closed his hands a few times, flexing his fingers nervously. Sam was still watching him, cautious now, a small frown between his eyebrows.

"Hey, there, dude. Sam, you, um I think, I um well, God!" Josh rubbed his hands across his face. "I'm sorry, I just realised, I mean, I can't-"

Sam took off his glasses, leaned across and put a hand on Josh's knee. The contact was sudden and electrifying and both men gasped. Josh's worried, sorrowful brown eyes looked right at Sam's exhausted, wounded blue eyes, and it felt like they could stare like that forever. Finally, Sam blinked and yawned, and his hand, still resting on Josh's knee, gave a small squeeze of pressure, then he sat back.

"You want to make that a little clearer, buddy?"

Josh gave a watery grin. "Sam, I guess you noticed I've been a bit-" he tailed off.

"Distant?"

"Yeah, thanks. Yeah, well, I didn't want the President to do the equality speech when we go South and I thought I could convince everyone to drop it-"

"Everyone except me."

"Well, not exactly like that, I thought it could just suddenly be off your agenda and you wouldn't need to know it was my idea."

"Why couldn't you just talk to me?"

"Honestly, Sam, I don't know. It was stupid and childish. It seemed okay at first."

"But then you realised you needed to avoid me?"

"Avoid you? I wasn't- well, yeah, I was. And I just realised, no, Toby made me realise what the hell I was doing. Even Donna tried to tell me. Sam, I know about the nightmares." Sam looked down at the carpet. "I'll never forget that time when Lisa, you know, did that, and yet here I am, making the same mistake."

Sam's head came up, "You're not Lisa, Josh. She still believed she'd done the right thing, and I deserved everything that happened, she even accused me of getting sick to get sympathy!"

"Really? I AM sorry, Sam. You look like hell, ya know?"

"I don't feel so hot. But I feel a lot better now. It's a good speech, Josh. It really is."

"I'll read it today, okay?"

"I think you'll like it. It's not what you'd be expecting. It's really less about equality and more about freedom." Sam smiled a small smile, "Kind of like you and me."

Josh stood up and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'm going to drive you home, let you get some rest."

"How?"

"How what?"

"How are YOU going to drive ME home?"

"Shut-up and give me your keys!"

End


	5. Trip Away, A

**A Trip Away**

**by:** Jen

**Character(s):** Sam, Josh, Senior Staff  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** Drama  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** Sam goes on a trip, and - trips!

Sam leaned back and closed his eyes. The rumble of the bus was soothing, and for the first time this week, Sam was able to relax. He felt a gentle tap on his knee, a hand that opened out and closed around his thigh with familiar pressure, a heavy warmth he could feel through the fabric of his trousers. Sam cracked open one eye, and found Josh staring at him intently, something he'd been doing a lot over the past couple of weeks.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Sam sighed, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Josh, I'm sure." Sam tried not to sound irritable.

"It's just, you know, yesterday..."

"Rough day, Josh."

"Yeah, well, you puking you guts out was certainly spectacular. Then there were the five hours you spent lying immobile on Toby's couch with a God-awful, blinding headache, and I'm not sure you slept much last night. So."

Sam opened his eyes properly and smiled tiredly across at Josh,

"Really, I am okay. A bit wrung-out, that's all."

"Okay. Get some sleep." Josh patted Sam's knee and stood up. He spied CJ further down the bus, and headed over to keep her company. He hovered in the aisle, looking down at the top of her head.

"Go away, Josh."

"CJ!" wounded, "I came to keep you company."

"Sam's asleep then." She hadn't even looked up.

"How - yeah, well, he needs a few zeds."

"Poor Sam. Is he really feeling any better?"

"I think he's heading that way."

"That was an exceedingly bad pun, Joshua. Go away!"

"Aw, c'mon, CJ, I'm bored!"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Sighing with exasperation, CJ cleared a few papers from the seat beside her. "Sit down, then, party boy." Josh plonked himself down next to her and grinned cheerily,

"So, got a strategy for the Press on our arrival?"

"I changed my mind. Go away!"

"CJ?!" pleading.

"All right. I'm working on it." CJ glanced awkwardly at Josh. "I can't believe they caught me out on that one."

"CJ, none of us had any idea-"

"Well, we should have, Josh! A peace march, can you believe it, going through the very city we're visiting, at that particular time, three weeks after the peace address down South, in fact, INSPIRED by that very address, worming its way towards DC and we accidentally intercept it in Pittsburgh?!"

"Toby blasted his entire team, if that's any help."

"Yeah, that was a big help." CJ rolled her eyes and began to tick off items on her fingers, "9 a.m. Press conference where I practically commit the President to joining a peace march, 10a.m. Toby yelling at the entire Communications staff, 10.30 a.m. Sam vomiting himself stupid in the Men's room..."

"Sam felt bad for you, Ceej. We all did."

"It was just so unexpected." CJ waved her glasses in the air. "Of all things, in Pittsburgh. I'm pretty sure Toby'll have something useful to put a spin on it by the time we arrive."

"Want me to go see?"

"No! Leave him alone." Toby was a couple of seats away, typing furiously on his laptop. He looked up to see CJ and Josh eyeing him.

"What!"

Josh swung around to face CJ again, and spoke in his most innocent voice, "So, CJ, speaking as an outdoors man-"

Toby snorted and returned to his typing. CJ glared at Josh,

"Go away. Far away. I mean it."

Josh rose reluctantly and slid back in beside Sam, who was sleeping quietly, slightly slumped down, tucked into the corner of the huge seat, hair straggled untidily across his forehead. Josh took a good look at him, much easier to do while Sam was asleep. Sam looked frail somehow, even though Josh knew he was physically fitter and stronger than he was himself. He was pale and tired and, Josh plunged around for the right word, ah, fragile. In a very special and private way, Josh was able to find Sam a fragile human being, not so sure and certain, overly sensitive to the feelings of those closest to him, shy and intense, in sharp contrast to the efficient, intelligent, competent lawyer Sam often portrayed.

Josh heaved a sigh himself and leaned back, looking past Sam to the unfolding countryside beyond Virginia. Not a long journey, they'd be back this time tomorrow. And Leo and the President would only be there for a few hours, really, flying in by helicopter at four. Josh mulled over Sam's peace address, the one he'd tried to block. It'd been an enormous success and had fired a whole new enthusiasm by the general public to find peaceful solutions for internal and external conflict. The White House had been inundated with a bizarre range of suggestions and plans, many of which had found their way to Donna's desk, much to Josh's irritation...

"Josh, a really good idea for a peace initiative has come in from Utah."

"Donna, the only good ideas to come from Utah were polygamy and the Osmonds. Hmmm. Actually, I'm not sure either was a good idea."

"Josh, listen."

"Donna, NO."

And now, the national peace production, as Toby referred to it, was well under way, with hundreds of marches nationwide, bumper stickers and talk-show frenzy. Josh was touched by the intensity of the fervour, but not particularly impressed. He didn't see that there was anything valuable for the government in people marching and rallying. Maybe ten years ago, actually more, he mused reflectively, he might have jumped on the bandwagon. But not now, no way.

Sam had viewed it differently. Sam, the eternal, freakish idealist, could see all these activities actually doing something for peace, having meaning. Josh couldn't.

"It's a waste of time, Sam."

Sam was glowing at t.v. coverage of a candlelight rally, everyone in the small town wearing matching t-shirts. He had turned a wounded face towards Josh,

"It's not a waste of time. These people are genuine, Josh. They really want peace."

"So, who gives a damn what they want? It has absolutely NO effect whatsoever on government, policy or the President. It's a small town, Sam, going nowhere fast."

"Josh, you're so wrong. It does mean something. And it is catching on. All over the place. It's gotta make a difference."

"Idealistic crap, Sam!"

"You're so far up the political ladder, Josh, I'm surprised it isn't rammed right up your ass!" And that, from Sam, had taken them both by surprise, and the argument had collapsed into raucous laughter.

Sam moved a little in his sleep, restless hands twitching in his lap. Josh pondered over what Toby would come up with to help CJ out...

"CJ, CJ, would you say the President approves of the peace marches across America?"

"Of course he does. Expression of opinion is very important to this Government. Mike?"

"CJ, will the President listen to the marchers?"

"President Bartlet is always keen to hear the voice of the people."

"Is that why you're going to Pittsburgh, to meet the marchers?"

"As I have already stated, we're going to Pittsburgh to attend a dinner for the Foundation for Abused Children."

"Will President also hear the voices of the marchers?"

"Of course he will hear them. I wouldn't be surprised to find him marching with them!"

"CJ, CJ, is President Bartlet joining the march?"

"CJ,CJ..."...

Josh smiled. The Press had run away with CJ's accidental implication, and Leo had been furious. There was no safe way to let President Bartlet mingle with the marchers, not in Pittsburgh. Now it looked like he was going to SNUB the marchers, when no-one had had any idea they were going to be there!

And Toby had hit the roof when he found no-one had picked up on the route of the marchers, whose numbers had been growing as they moved from town to town. Toby had called in his whole staff, something he did most infrequently, and had berated them at length for poor preparation. Sam had stood silently beside him, trying to appear the supportive deputy, but growing whiter by the minute. He had finally folded quietly into a chair pushed forward by Ed (or Larry).

"I've told you before," Toby had finally neared the end, apparently unaware of Sam disintegrating beside him, "we're a team. But we must be thorough. We must be the best team ever. We must try to have all the answers, all the time. We're working for the President of the United States of America, and there's no-one who deserves more accurate, complete, fully-researched information. We must BE THE BEST." At this poignant moment, Sam had lurched raggedly to his feet, hand pressed desperately against his mouth, and staggered into the nearest men's room. This effectively cracked up the meeting and Toby had dismissed everyone before reluctantly checking on his Deputy. He found Sam being thoroughly sick in the toilet, and, feeling unable and unwilling to really help out there, had sent Bonnie to find Josh.

The two of them had managed to get Sam through that part of the ordeal.

"Sam, are you finished?"

"I think so." Sam had sat back weakly against the open stall of the bathroom, his breathing coming in small, shallow gasps, eyes shut. Bonnie handed Josh a damp cloth. He crouched down and gently washed Sam's face. Sam sat immobile, his eyes still shut tightly.

"Ah, Sam, you can open your eyes now."

Sam's voice was very quiet, "I don't think so." Josh immediately knew what was wrong. He glanced up at Bonnie,

"His head hurts. We need to lie him down somewhere."

They gently levered Sam to his feet, and, taking an arm each, escorted a wobbly Sam to the Bullpen. Toby saw them heading through the door and came out to meet them. He was faced with a greenish, swaying Sam, eyes still closed.

"Oh God!"

Sam opened his eyes at that, but quickly shut them against the glare of the Bullpen, shuddering slightly. Josh took control.

"He needs to lie down, Toby. He'll be fine in a little while. Can we use your couch?"

"We??!!"

"I mean 'he'....Toby, did you just smirk at me?"

"The Zieglers have never smirked." He gestured at Sam, "Bring it in and lie it down."

And there Sam had lain for much of the day, immobilised by a migraine almost certainly inspired by CJ's situation on top of an extremely busy week. Toby typed, made calls and tried to formulate a plan to help CJ out. At about 1.30 Sam had awkwardly risen to a sitting position, while Toby was out of the office. He felt dreadful. His throat was dry and his head seemed to have developed a thunderous pulse all of its own. He had attempted to stand up, but found the room sliding precariously so had sat down again quickly. He heard Toby returning and tried to look alert and casual, but failed miserably. Toby, coming back into the room, was surprised to see Sam sitting up, and could see at a glance he was in no condition to work.

"Good grief. Lie down again, you idiot."

"Huh?"

"Lie down."

"But, Toby, I-"

"Sam!" Sam lay down.

Three hours later Sam was able to make a much better attempt, sitting up slowly and looking around with something akin to interest in his surroundings. Toby glanced up from his computer, smiling slightly now at the vacant expression on his Deputy's face. He watched curiously as the blue eyes blinked heavily, staring at nothing but gradually gaining awareness. Those eyes finally focused on Toby's amused expression, and Sam reddened slightly.

"I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. Toby waved a hand in dismissal.

"You can't control everything, Sam. Your head just took over." Toby stood up and walked round his desk. He perched on the coffee table in front of Sam." Do you want to see what I've worked out for Pittsburgh?"

The bus juddered through a series of potholes, and Sam jerked awake. He found he was looking right at Josh, who was smiling right back at him.

"Hey!"

"Hey, Sam. Good sleep?" Josh watched Sam absent-mindedly massage his neck.

"Yeah. Uh, where are we?"

"Nearly there. How's your head doing?" Josh reached out and brushed some of Sam's hair off his forehead in a familiar and caring gesture.

"I'm fine." The automatic response didn't even register with Josh.

"Hungry? We ate a while back but no-one wanted to wake you up."

Sam's cheeks flickered as a red flush highlighted his cheekbones. He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. Josh patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Sam, we all really felt for you yesterday. You haven't gone down like that in a while."

Sam looked right at Josh. "And I'm not going down again for a long time. In fact," he shifted resolutely, "for the rest of the year."

"Sam!" Josh tried to look serious but his eyes were shining with humour and he couldn't prevent dimples creasing his cheeks, "It's pretty early in the year - that's a big ask, isn't it?"

"I'm not going down, Josh."

"No more migraines?"

"No migraines, no puking, especially in front of Toby, no illnesses, no accidents. Nothing. You will all be stunned and impressed by my remarkable ability to maintain peak physical condition for the next eight months!"

Josh graced Sam with an indulgent but derisive snort.

"Yeah, watch this space!"

Sam shot him a wounded glare. Josh ignored it.

Sam frowned, "I should have been helping Toby. What about the Press statement?"

"All done. Toby's nailed it, so we're ready for the lions!"

Sam sighed deeply and glanced out the window.

"You're right. We're nearly there."

* * *

Of course, their arrival in Pittsburgh involved much more than just getting ready for a dinner. There were half a dozen different meetings to attend, and Sam had to oversee the entire seating arrangement for the Dinner that evening. Josh stopped by the dining hall at 6 p.m.

"Hey, Sam. We're all meeting in CJ's room for a drink. You done here?"

"I'm feeling sort of boxed in here, Josh. I need some fresh air. I think I might go for a run before the whole thing kicks off."

"A run? Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. There's a huge park right across the river. What's the matter?"

Josh was frowning wildly. "Sam, have you even eaten today?"

"The day after a migraine's a little like a hangover, Josh. You don't feel so hungry."

Josh shifted impatiently. "I KNOW that. How would I not know that? How long have I known you? You AND your stupid head!"

Sam smiled tenderly, "Josh, I'm-"

"Yeah, yeah, you're fine. Okay, catch ya later, dude."

"Thanks, buddy."

* * *

Within half an hour, Sam was pounding across the bridge towards the park. Twilight bathed the trees in a soft, lemon-coloured light that emphasised the brilliant greens of the leaves. The air was crisp and still, rush-hour traffic already thinning, a few people on foot barely visible as the dusk deepened with startling rapidity. Unperturbed, Sam crossed at the lights and headed into the park. He knew it would be a fairly brief run this time. The events of yesterday had left him jaded and as he hadn't eaten, his energy levels were depressed. He could still feel the migraine scratching away inside his head, although he'd never admit that to the others. He hoped the run would clear the dregs of it out of his system. Everything was set for the Dinner, Toby was actually satisfied - he really could relax. What could go wrong now?

Ten minutes later, Sam found out what could go wrong. Deciding to head back to the hotel, Sam sprinted down the slope towards the duck-pond, knowing he could take a right turn there to return to the park entrance. Part of the path here was muddy and had sunk slightly into the damp pond-soaked ground. Running swiftly, Sam reached the path that encircled the pond. He made to turn towards the gate and felt his foot sink deeply where a sodden patch of mud had oozed across the path. His sneaker squelched obstinately and despite Sam's inertia, failed to leave the mud, clamping his foot unexpectedly where it had landed. Sam's body twisted sideways and the shoe suddenly schlurped out of the mud with a rush of trapped air. Too late, Sam toppled sideways, landing with an enormous splash in the freezing, dank, dark water of the duck-pond.

Arms flailing and a surprised cry of shock ringing in his ears, Sam felt the icy cold water envelop him with a rush, chilling his entire body in a matter of seconds. His rear end hit the shallow, slimy bottom of the pond with a heavy thwack and his head was doused with water and pond weed. Scabbling to his feet, frantically coughing and spluttering, Sam tried to assess the extraordinarily frustrating situation he found himself in. He waded to the edge of the muddy pond, the dark water swirling with disturbed mud, and hauled himself up onto the path. The shivering started right away.

Sam tried to think but the violent tremors shaking his body were blotting out any sense of rational thought.

Cold. C-c-c-cold. That's all he could think. Co-o-o-o-olddd. He took one step away from the mud and crashed face first to the grass. Huh? Sam levered himself up onto one knee and tried to stand, but the other knee just didn't want to co-operate. He felt another round of vile shaking overtake his system. Sam sat down on the grass and, with a shaking hand, checked his knee, cold, wet, slimy and very tender. He bent and straightened it a couple of times, then carefully stood up on the other leg. He gingerly put a little weight on the offending leg and found it wasn't too bad. He'd probably just twisted it a little. The darkness was suddenly intense, and felt like the enemy. Sam realised he needed to get out of the cold, and back to the hotel.

Sam headed onto the bridge feeling like he'd aged thirty years since the last crossing. A light breeze off the river cut right through his sodden t-shirt with knife-like slashes and dragged his body temperature down further. Shivering uncontrollably, Sam limped up over the river, a miserable, bedraggled, aching shadow of his former self!

Nearing the hotel, he saw a crowd of reporters gathering early for the Dinner celebrations, and realised he just couldn't pass through that picture-hungry throng looking like a drowned rabbit. Backing around a sheltered corner, he unhooked his phone from his waistband and shook the moisture off it. It lit up for a hopeful moment then blackened forbiddingly. Despite several desperate shakes, it remained dead. Sam unclipped his pager and checked that. Also dead.

C-c-c-ooold-d-d-d. Sam could feel his brain shutting out all other thoughts, to spend more time focusing on the cold. Squaring his shoulders, he headed to the back of the hotel, where the Secret Service, grinning broadly, allowed him entry through the rear doorway. Sam slipped up to his room, thankfully running into no-one except more grinning agents. Sam knew he wouldn't hear the end of this for some time. And, he realised, this ruined his resolution to Josh on the bus - no accidents.

Sam's hands were shaking violently as he tried to get the key-card to work. After the third attempt, one of the agents crossed the hallway, slipped the card out of Sam's frozen fingers and opened the door for him.

"You all right, Mr Seaborn?"

"Y-y-y-yeah, I'm f-f-fine. Thanks." Embarrassed, Sam slipped into his room and stumbled for the bathroom. He turned on the shower and the heating lamps in the ceiling. The shivering was exhausting. Rather than keep to a rhythm as it did whenever he ventured out in the harsh Virginia winters, this was like waves crashing on a wild beach, a lull then a mighty, violent surge of uncontrollable ague, leaving his whole body feeling beaten and tense.

Not willing to look in the mirror, Sam peeled off his t-shirt, surprised to find the now muddy whiteness stained with a rusty red all down one side. Sam looked down at his own shivering body, pale with cold, and was shocked to see a gash running nearly from armpit to hip, blood smeared wetly across his left side. Sam stared in absolute shock and dismay. He couldn't imagine how he had cut himself. He balled the t-shirt and flung it into the empty bathtub. He stepped reluctantly to the mirror and wiped away the mounting condensation, peering at his body in the smudged reflection. Sam was completely stumped, and more than a little concerned. He eased off his running shoes, green with weed, and dragged his filthy socks down over white, frozen toes. Turning reluctantly towards the shower, Sam peeled off his mud-slimed shorts, dropping them on the tiled floor. His sodden satin boxers clung in cold folds to his thighs, and he stepped into the shower before divesting himself of that article of clothing.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was still in the shower, sitting on the floor of the shower stall, letting the hot water dissolve the last shivers from his body. Josh appeared in a cloud of steam, clearly irritated.

"Sam! What the hell are you still in the shower for? It's after 7. Toby's threatening to do nasty things to you."

Sam rested his head on his knees. "I'll be out in a minute."

Josh's dimpled grin appeared around the shower curtain. "How was the run?"

"Okay." Sam felt relieved his injured side was away from Josh.

Josh frowned. Something didn't seem quite right. Oh well. He shrugged.

"Get a move on, then. Or Toby will come in here and drag you naked to the dining hall. Okay?"

Sam felt very tired. Couldn't Josh see the muddied clothing abandoned around the bathroom? The blood-stained t-shirt? The weed-caked runners and socks? And couldn't he see that Sam was not okay? Sitting huddled on the floor of the shower? Arms wrapped around his knees? Couldn't he see the fear that was only now invading Sam's nervous system as delayed shock settled in for the evening? And then Josh was gone.

Sam reluctantly turned off the shower and began to dry himself. The gash down his side gleamed wetly, defying the ministrations of the towel. Sam gingerly toweled off the rest of his body. He sat on the edge of the bath to check his knee. It was red and slightly swollen, but nothing serious. He leaned across and opened the cupboard under the basin. No first aid supplies in there. Sam had a few Band Aids in his overnight bag, but didn't think that would cover the twelve inches or so of jagged broken skin. He rose wearily and wandered over to the phone. He dialled Room Service and requested some gauze and adhesive tape, and a pair of scissors.

* * *

The Dinner went very well, and the President had an excellent time. He was full of the joys of life as they met after the function for a debrief. Leo and the President were soon to fly back to D.C.

Sam had endured one of the longest evenings he could recall. He felt awful, first warm then cold, then warm again. It was as if his body had become confused and couldn't decide what temperature to maintain. His knee was aching and the gash in his side was disturbingly painful. Every movement seemed to cause a twang of pain. Sam had remained stoic throughout the dinner but was beginning to lose control over his ragged nerves. Josh had remained oblivious to his discomfort, assuming it was just a post-migraine downer. And Josh hated those. Everyone else had been focused on the speeches. CJ was particularly merry, relaxing with the knowledge Toby had cleared the march mess up.

As the Senior Staffers gathered in Leo's hotel room, the President bustled in through the adjoining door, high on the success of the night. He flung an arm around Sam with good cheer, his hand closing directly on Sam's now-fiery injury. Sam blanched visibly and staggered against the President, his knees weakened by the intensity of the pain. Jed felt Sam stumble and figured he was over-tired. He'd heard about the migraine, and knew such things were exhausting.

"Sam, I think you need to get to bed." He frowned at Toby, "You working this boy too hard?"

Toby could see something was wrong. Sam had straightened but looked very pale.

"Yes, sir. Sam, go get some rest."

Sam didn't feel like responding. The other staffers were all looking at him with concern. He couldn't look at them. He moved quickly to the door and slipped out.

CJ turned to Josh curiously,

"So, what's wrong with Sam? He looks a bit off-colour."

Josh shrugged, "It's the day after a migraine. He's usually a bit down."

Leo cleared his throat, "We need to discuss the Collins business. What are we going to do without a guy in Fishing? We have to get someone else in there quick, before that South Carolina thing comes up."

"It's already here, Leo." CJ crossed her legs elegantly and leaned back on the couch. "I've had questions about it two days running."

"What have you been saying?"

"Nothing yet. Josh said to keep a lid on it until you've talked to someone."

"Josh?"

"I figured we could pull Casey in from the back. Toby was meeting with him the other day." Leo felt like he was playing some bizarre form of musical chairs, as he focused on CJ, then Josh, and now Toby. Toby shifted a little awkwardly, and cleared his throat.

"Well, actually, Sam met with Casey the day before yesterday."

"Sam?"

"I had the Arts meeting. Sam said he was halfway there, they were going to meet again yesterday, but Ginger had to cancel all his meetings after, you know, his thing."

"Couldn't someone else've gone?"

"Not really. We didn't realise there was any real urgency."

"Well, there IS. Josh could have told you THAT! Josh, what the hell's going on?"

"Hey, this thing will go down fine. As Toby said, Sam was getting there, and he would have said if he'd had any doubts."

"Josh, go talk to Sam right now. I want a full picture before we head back."

Josh sighed pointedly and left the room.

He didn't bother to knock before letting himself into the room. The room was darkened, but the bathroom light was on, letting Josh spy Sam leaning back on the bed against the pillows. He had taken off his shoes and tie, and was lying semi-reclined. Josh moved over quietly and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sam.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam seemed to be awake, but he didn't acknowledge Josh. His hair was plastered wetly across his forehead and his breathing was shallow and rapid. Josh frowned and laid a hand on Sam's thigh, a favourite gesture between them. Sam flinched and opened his eyes properly.

"Hey, Josh." He sounded croaky. "What's wrong?"

"Leo wanted me to get the gen on the meeting with Casey. How far did you get?"

"It's fine, Josh. I'm certain he'll be our guy."

"What's wrong? You look a bit... are you feeling... " Josh tiptoed with trepidation through the agonising maze of how to get Sam to tell him how he was feeling. "It's just, you look like.. Sam, are you in pain or something? Is it your head?"

Sam was about to answer when a huge sneeze erupted out of him. This drove a searing fire down his side, causing him to cry out. He instinctively wrapped his arm around his side, grimacing and leaning forward. Josh was stunned.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam sneezed again. Josh handed him a tissue and gently rubbed Sam's back. "Are you getting a cold?" He could feel Sam shivering, even though he was warm.

Sam leaned back gingerly. "Uh, yeah, a cold. Must have been that run."

"Okay. I'll leave you 'til later. So I can tell Leo you think it'll be okay with Casey?"

"Yeah. We're ninety percent there."

Josh stood up and headed for the door. "Later."

Leo and the President were ready to fly back to D.C. Josh reported Sam's meeting and saw them off to the chopper. He met up with Toby and CJ in the bar downstairs.

"They're off?"

"Yeah." Josh loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his collar. "What're you having?"

They all leaned back, relaxing.

CJ glanced at Josh. "How's Sam?"

"I dunno. He looked like he was getting a cold or something."

Toby sat up a little straighter. "You know, when the President flung his arm around Sam, I thought he was going to pass out."

"The President?"

"No, Josh, you idiot, Sam. Did anything happen to him when he went out for that run?"

"How should I know?"

"Oh, c'mon. Josh, you're sharing a room. You're his freaking partner. You can't tell when something's wrong?"

"CJ, we have been busy tonight. I've hardly seen him." However, a worried frown had appeared on Josh's face, and after a moment he stood up noisily. "I'm off to bed."

Toby smiled knowingly, "Let us know if it's anything serious!"

"Shut up!"

Josh slipped quietly into the room. Sam hadn't moved. Josh passed through into the bathroom to relieve himself. This time he noticed the filthy running shoes, socks and shorts scattered across the floor, and the t-shirt balled up in the bath. Josh was surprised. Sam NEVER left dirty clothes scattered around. That was Josh's own area of expertise. Thinking of Sam, he lifted the t-shirt to at least smooth it out a little, and was shocked to find the rusty red stains smeared in the damp muddiness. Josh dropped the shirt as if it was hot, and turned back to the bedroom. He moved over to the bed and switched on the bedside lamp, sitting down beside his partner.

"Sam?"

Groggy blue eyes slowly met his, and a small smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. Josh began to unbutton Sam's dress shirt.

"What're you doing?" Sam still sounded croaky, and he was still shivering a little.

Josh ignored him, feeling the mounting pressure of irritation and worry that Sam seemed to cause him at times like this. He opened out the shirt and, briskly shoving Sam's protesting hands aside, lifted his white undershirt. He was faced with a long line of gauze and tape, which didn't cover the spreading black of bruising. Josh looked up at Sam's blue eyes, and indicated that he wanted to lift the tape. Sam nodded slightly, staring at Josh with trust and a little trepidation. He knew Josh was seething and didn't trust himself not to yell at Sam. Josh gently peeled away the lower end of the tape and lifted the gauze. He drew in a sharp breath at the fiery redness illuminating the wound. Sam gasped a little, too, as the tape pulled at his skin.

"Okay, okay." Josh was speaking around clenched teeth, snorting angry puffs of air out of his nostrils, like a young dragon. "You did this how?"

Sam squinted nervously, a colt fearful of the dragon's fiery temper.

"Sam?" Josh ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "That doesn't look so good. Did you use antiseptic?"

Sam shook his head, small, jerky shakes, his eyes fixed on Josh's.

"C'mon, I'll take you to an ER or something."

* * *

Sam reclined against the pillows as CJ collected the morning coffee from Room Service. Josh lay dead to the world beside him on the bed.

"So." CJ began conversationally, "Tell me again what happened." She passed Sam a coffee and a croissant. He wrinkled his nose at it. "Eat!"

Sam compliantly bit into the croissant, and had a sip of coffee.

"Aaah! Now I feel better."

"You've gotta get on top of that coffee addiction, Sam. Now, spill."

Sam took a deep breath, then winced.

"Mustn't do that." His voice was thick with cold. "Okay. I went for a run, across the river to that park we saw from the bus. And that was going fine. I didn't want to go for too long, and it was getting dark, so I decided to head back." Sam cleared his throat, and took another sip of coffee. CJ cleared her own throat pointedly, so he had another bite of the croissant as well before continuing. "I slipped in some mud, and fell into a pond. Well, I thought it was a pond, all slimy and green. " Sam shuddered. "And cold. Ceej, it was freezing. Anyway, I thought I was fine, just cold, and twisted my knee a bit, but when I got back I found this huge cut down my side. I never even knew it was there." Sam frowned, reminiscing.

"How on earth did you get that?"

"It was apparently a fountain, with dozens of metal water spouter things. I must have fallen on one, but the cold numbed it. Trouble is, the water was gross, so now it's a bit infected." He frowned, then brightened. "I have antibiotics. I'll be fine."

"Do you need to take one now?" CJ fingered the bottle on the bedside unit.

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Sam downed two pills with his coffee.

CJ looked at Josh, peacefully oblivious to their conversation. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Not really. We only got back a couple of hours ago." He grabbed a tissue before sneezing loudly. Josh stirred but did not wake up.

"And you caught a cold."

"They said it was sort of a chill, but I must have had the cold in me anyway, so it took over while I was down."

"Not a good week for you, Sam." CJ poured herself a second coffee. Sam held out his cup hopefully. "Don't you want to get some rest?"

"I can sleep on the bus."

"Toby's hoping you'll be able to come with him to that Auxiliary meeting at 9."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Are we ready for that?"

"He's doing it now."

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed, frowning slightly. "I'd better get on to it."

"Sam, you sure you're up for it?"

Sam reached for another tissue.

"I can sleep on the bus."

CJ waved her cup at Josh's slumbering form. "When are you going to wake him?"

"When I'm ready to put on a tie. I don't think I can lift my arm."

"Want some help?" CJ's eyes were sparkling with humour.

Sam's eyes widened. He grinned, "Can you pass me some fresh boxers?"

CJ dumped her cup on the tray and stood up. "You're on your own there, sunshine!"

Sam smiled, "Tell Toby I'll be there-" he glanced at his watch, "by 7.30."

* * *

Leo eyeballed Sam.

"What is it with you and water?" Sam dragged his eyes away, and looked down at the carpet.

"Sam, you're Senior Staff. If you're going out for a run in a strange city, you gotta let someone know, so when you run under a bus or whatever the hell you have planned for next time, we can be ready to drive you directly to the hospital!"

Sam opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, glancing pointedly at Josh. Leo didn't miss it. He swung his gaze around to his own Deputy.

"YOU knew he was going out?"

Josh had been reclining on the couch. He sat forward nervously. "Hey, leave me out of this."

"It appears you were very much IN it, Josh. You had no better advice for him?"

Josh's head dropped sullenly, "I thought he should get something to eat."

"But you knew he was going anyway."

Leo looked back at Sam, who was busy blowing his nose.

"So, not satisfied with a day on Toby's couch with a migraine, you had to go out and add all-" he waved his hand in a vague circle in front of Sam, "-all this mess."

Sam resumed his study of the carpet.

Leo sighed exasperatedly, "Sam, do you have any voice at all?"

Sam looked up and shook his head.

"Has Bonnie sorted your schedule?" Sam nodded brightly. "Okay. Go do whatever you can." Thus dismissed, Sam realised he needed to stand up. He threw a desperate glance at Josh, who was grinning at him. Sam frowned. Josh pulled at his collar.

"You need me to help you up, don't you?"

Sam nodded miserably.

Josh leaned back. "Answer the question, Sam. Did I or did I not, no, wait, did I recommend that a run was a bad idea? Just nod if I did." Leo looked from one to the other. Sam's head bobbed faintly. Josh stood up.

"Was that a nod? I don't think the court quite caught that one. Was that a nod, Mr Seaborn?" Sam looked all around the room, before meeting Josh's gaze. He nodded.

Leo intervened, "Yeah, all right, Josh. I get the point. Now, get him up and get out of here, both of you."

Josh gently eased a very stiff and sore Sam up to a standing position, and they headed for the door. As Leo put on his glasses to begin his paperwork, he found himself grinning at the backs of the two Deputies. He cleared his throat and tried to sound gruff, "Guys?" They both turned to look at him. "Stay out of trouble, will ya?"


	6. Four Days

**Four Days**

**by:** Jen

**Character(s):** Sam, Josh, Senior Staff  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** Drama  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** Sam has a cold, and a lot of work to get done.

Monday

The first inkling Josh had that something was wrong was the sneeze. It was a huge sneeze and it shook the bed. Josh's eyes snapped open with surprise and he stared into the darkness for a moment before his brain registered what he had heard. He turned to look at the person who had woken him so abruptly. Sam was lying there blinking at the dark. Josh reached out and switched on the lamp, and rubbed his eyes to get a better look. Sam appeared as surprised as he was, eyes wide, hair sticking up every which way.

"Damn!" he exclaimed, turning to Josh in apology. "Sorry, Josh."

"Was that a sneeze?"

"Yeah. Gave me a hell of a fright. I don't know where that came from." Sam was frowning.

"It's just a sneeze, Sam," Josh gently chided Sam, wanting to avoid a full-scale medical alert over a sneeze in the middle of the night. "Actually, what time is it?"

Sam squinted at his watch. "Just after three."

"Right, let's get back to sleep."

"I hope I'm not getting a cold."

"Probably just inhaled some dust. C'mon." Josh switched off the lamp.

"I can't get sick now. We're right in the middle of the tree thing."

"Yeah, y'see, you saying 'thing' there shows you're tired. So. Sleep."

"Maybe I ought to take some vitamin C."

"For God's sake, shut up, will you?" Josh shuffled over by Sam, wriggling into a comfortable position, and wrapped a reassuring arm around his partner. "Relax."

He was asleep in minutes. Sam lay immobile, wrapped up in Josh, staring at nothing. His eyes felt scratchy when he blinked, and he wondered if he could fall asleep without closing them. He certainly couldn't afford to get sick right now.

* * *

Halfway through Sam's first environmental meeting, the sneezing began in earnest. The leader of the Conservation Project, Kate Ellis, left her seat and poured Sam a glass of water.

"I'm sorry." Sam took off his glasses and wiped streaming eyes. "Thanks, Kate."

"Are you allergic to something?"

Before he could reply, the other women in the room joined in. "Is it hay-fever?" "You should try echinacea." "Did you have the same trouble in California-" "-or is it an Eastern seaboard thing?" "What's your vitamin C intake like?" "Did you get a flu shot?"

Sam blinked at the barrage of questions from the conservationists. He squirmed uncomfortably and rustled his papers with some sense of authority, "Can we, ah, get back..."

"Yes, of course." Kate leaned forward and fixed Sam with an intense glare, and continued the attack on a politician which she had begun before Sam's sneezing fit. "His behaviour on forest protection is just a long series of political manoeuvres. These are feathering the nests of big money timber corporations. Look who has been appointed to chair the government team, it's Mann, who works with the very lumber company that's broken every rule in the book over the last five years. Every one of his appointments over that period of time has been associated in some way with the timber industry. He has killed legislation that would have been saving our forests already." 

Kate was mesmerising - her sharp, intelligent, informed attack was enhanced by piercing brown eyes and a vibrant, challenging manner. And, perhaps most importantly, Sam agreed with her entirely. He moved to ask a question, but was overcome by another bout of sneezing.

"Bless you!"

"Thanks, Kate. What - (sniff) - what do you think he'll do when the Bill comes up?"

"He's gonna kill it."

"How?"

"He won't support it. It'll be watered down by counter proposals, for sure."

Sam tried to make notes, but his eyes kept watering. He settled for concentrating. By the end of the meeting, his head was starting to ache, and the sneezing had not gone away.

As they stood up, Kate came around the table and shook his hand. "Thanks, Sam, we're looking forward to your support on this one."

"I can't promise anything, Kate, you know that."

She smiled, still holding his hand. "We know you, Sam, we trust you. There's a redwood in California with your name on it!" She let go of his hand and turned to gather up her papers. Sam sneezed. Kate turned back,

"As long as you're not allergic to trees..." she smiled. "Bless you!"

"I'm not allergic to anything. Really. I must be getting a cold."

Sam headed slowly back to the Bullpen after the meeting. He felt exhausted. He figured he must have sneezed at least thirty times in the two hours it took to thrash out the Conservation Project's approach to the proposed logging allowances. His head was aching and he was starting to feel an intense pain behind his eyes.

Back in the Bullpen, there was a frenzy of activity. Toby was standing in his office, yelling into the telephone, and as Sam wandered in, clutching a coffee, waved him frantically into his office. Sam diverted and perched on the ledge below Toby's bookcase. The coffee felt really good. He hadn't realised how scratchy his throat was. He tuned into Toby's end of the conversation, "-and I have four assistants scrabbling for information as we speak. How could it get this far, without someone calling us, and who called the GODDAMNED PRESS?" Toby's voice had risen to an explosive bellow. Sam winced a little himself, as the yell reverberated through his tender head, feeling sorry momentarily for whoever was on the receiving end of this call.

"-We have to control this TODAY. I want every item of relevant information on my desk by noon. I'm putting you back on to my assistant - *Ginger*!" Another bellow. Sam absently rubbed a hand across one ear.

Toby slammed down the telephone and sat down heavily with a dynamite-laden snort. Sam sipped his coffee, eyeing Toby warily. There was a moment's peaceful silence, despite the activity beyond the open door. Toby rubbed a hand across his eyes, and finally looked right at Sam.

"How was that meeting?"

"Fine. What's going on?"

"A GM scare in Nebraska."

"Nebraska? GM?"

"Yeah, a wheat thing - tested positive or something."

"You're kidding, right? This could be a monumental crisis for the wheat industry. This could- "

"Yeah, okay, Sam, stop. I don't need a GM rave from you right now. I have to talk to Josh. Do you know where he is?"

"He was up with Treasury first thing, but he's probably ba- ba- achoo!"

"Gezundheit!"

"Thanks. He's probably back now." Sam blew his nose.

"What time's your next meeting?"

Sam glanced at his watch, "In about five minutes. I'd better get my notes. What'll we do about the wheat thing?"

"I'll let you know." Toby headed straight off to find Josh. Sam moved to go into his own office, but in Toby's doorway was beset by a huge series of sneezes - at the third sneeze his coffee flew out of its mug and splattered across Ginger's desk. Three sneezes later, Sam stood frozen, mortified at this latest klutzy disaster. Ginger had shoved her chair backwards and was looking from Sam to the coffee-splotched desk and back to Sam.

She opened her mouth to yell, but quickly took in his pale face, red nose and watering eyes. She changed tack.

"Don't cry, Sam. We won't tell Toby, will we, Bonnie?" She winked at her fellow assistant.

"Not if we get something to keep us quiet."

"A free lunch. At least."

"For both of us. Out somewhere. Not in the Mess."

Sam blinked miserably from one to the other. Both women were grinning. "It's only fair, Sam."

He shrugged in defeat, "Okay."

Ginger began to mop her desk with some tissues. Sam slunk into his office and grabbed his notes for the next meeting, as well as a couple of aspirin. His head really did hurt.

* * *

Toby appeared at Donna's window, raising his eyebrows as he inclined his head towards Josh's door. Donna nodded, and Toby moved across the hall. He stopped in the doorway. Josh was in shirtsleeves, buried in a huge report. Toby cleared his throat awkwardly, and Josh's head popped up. His eyes narrowed.

"Toby." A wary tone.

"Josh." Battle lines having been drawn, Toby was able to continue. He stepped up to Josh's desk. "We have a problem - in Nebraska."

* * *

Sam peeped through the glass panel in the door - everyone was seated, waiting for him. He took a deep breath. This meeting had the potential to be more difficult. He squared his shoulders and strode purposefully into the room and took his place at the head of the table. He greeted the group, all women, members of the Redwood Reform. This group was growing exponentially in support from all over America. Their tree-sitting exploits and well-marketed t-shirts had caught the imagination and interest of the nation.

Claire Webb, co-founder and leader of the group was the first to speak following Sam's welcome. A small, nuggetty, powerful woman, she began to outline the absolute necessity for the preservation of the redwood forests.

"Sam, this forest ecosystem is key to sustaining life - we need the redwoods to stabilise the hydrologic cycle, and to take away carbon dioxide while creating oxygen for all of us. There are amazing animal species living in these forests, there are medicinal plants living within this ecosystem." She slammed one hand down on the table for emphasis, "One logging boss recently stated 'It's out there, it's ours and we want it all. Now.' Sam, that's the attitude we need to fight. Total ownership cannot go to the logging companies, they will destroy all primeval redwood forest."

She spoke without a pause for nearly forty minutes. Sam felt his head reeling from the intensity of the onslaught - several times she paused while he sneezed or blew his nose, but then would carry on as if uninterrupted, barely glancing at her notes. The other women sat patiently in support, nodding and smiling or frowning at each of Webb's major points, of which there were many.

Sam sat quietly, absentmindedly rubbing his fingertips back and forth across his right ear. Webb began to hand out photographs of trees, whose histories she listed as if they were part of her family genealogy. At the end of the presentation, they gave him a t-shirt for the President. Sam thanked them warmly and Bonnie arrived on cue to escort them all out.

Sam stayed behind in the meeting room. He took off his glasses and carefully laid his aching head down on his forearms, closing his eyes. That felt marginally better. He tried to assess what was going on inside his head - he was certainly coming down with a bad cold. And that worried him because since moving to the East Coast, his very occasional colds always seemed to descend into horrible chest infections. And right now everyone was very busy. There really was no time for sickness. Resolving to fight this cold, Sam sat up slowly and was surprised to find CJ sitting opposite him, smiling predatorily across the table.

"Buenos dias, senor."

"Huh?" Sam squinted at her perplexedly. "When did you get there?"

"A few minutes ago. I thought you were asleep, mi amigo. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just needed a moment to recover from a Claire Webb redwood barrage. What's with the Spanish?"

"The South American delegates function, Sam. It's tomorrow evening. Aren't you working on the address?"

"That's Toby's one. I just have to add the Spanish."

"It could be back on your desk soon. Did you hear about Nebraska?"

"Yeah, I - I - achoo!" Sam sneezed hugely into his handkerchief.

"You I-I-what?"

Sam tried to glare but lost his impetus as three more sneezes followed.

"Gracious, Sam, did you catch a cold?"

Sam shrugged, "Maybe. What are we doing about Nebraska?"

"Josh and Toby went off to see Leo. It's already hit the press though, so they'll have to brief me soon." She took a good look at Sam's overall appearance. "You're looking a little ragged there, Spanky. How many meetings have you had now?"

"Seven, including the two this morning. Another one in - in - " Sam paused, waiting for the sneeze, but it never arrived. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he dropped his head back onto his folded arms in embarrassment. CJ felt moved. She rose and came around to Sam's side of the table, sat beside him and rubbed a soothing hand across his shoulders.

"If you're sick, cancel the meeting."

Sam shook his head, wishing he could do just that. He finally raised his head and flashed CJ a weak grin. "It won't be a long meeting." He began to tidy his papers, and glanced at CJ, "People will be looking for you."

"All the more reason to stay here." She frowned, a small concerned wrinkle across her forehead, "You do look rather pale, Sam."

Sam shrugged again, dismissing her observation. They both stood up, leaving the peace of the meeting room for the frenetic bustle of the West Wing.

Josh was sitting at Sam's desk, idly flicking the Newton's cradle. He looked up cheerfully.

"Hey, Sam! Where were you? Bonnie saw the greenies out ten minutes ago."

"Talking to CJ." Sam flopped down into one of his visitors' chairs. He sniffed in irritation, "Josh, I think I'm getting a cold."

"Sam, one sneeze in the middle of the night. C'mon, you still obsessing over that?"

"Josh, I've been sneezing all morning."

"Really?" Josh looked at Sam carefully. "Actually, you do look under the weather. Oh, did you hear about Nebraska?"

"Yeah. What are you going to do?"

"Toby and I are heading out there tomorrow lunchtime."

"You're going to Nebraska?"

"Uh-huh!" Josh grinned delightedly. "I've only been there once, and that was during the campaign."

"You're going with Toby?" Sam's eyebrows flew up in concern. "Josh, you'll never make it. Twelve hours and I guarantee, he'll kill you."

"I'll be surprised if I don't kill him during the flight over!" Toby was dropping off files for Sam. "I need you to take over the South American address."

Sam sighed, "CJ already gave me the heads up on that one. So, how long will you be away?"

"Just the one night. I couldn't stand any longer with super-mouth over there." Toby jerked his head in the direction of Sam's desk area. Josh, who had been reclining, feet up on the desk, dropped his feet to the carpet with a thump.

"Super-mouth? Super-mouth? Are you referring to me, Mr Voice-like-a-foghorn-and-that's-just-for-the-telephone-Ziegler?"

Toby rolled his eyes at Sam. "See what I mean?"

Sam chose to answer with several sneezes, which left stars flashing above his eyes. Josh leaned forward, "Wow! You ARE getting a cold."

Toby frowned, "You right for the next meeting?"

Sam wiped his streaming eyes, "I'm fine."

Josh stood up, "Wanna get a late lunch?" He eased past Toby towards the door.

"Yeah." Thus rescued, Sam slipped out after Josh, leaving Toby still frowning as he headed back to his own office.

* * *

Sam's third meeting turned out to be much longer than he had expected. The National Ecology Advisers had a huge agenda and Sam had to keep steering them back to the one major issue at hand at this time, the logging allowances. Apart from this, during the three hours they thrashed around the subject, Sam's cold grew progressively worse. He had to mop his streaming eyes every time he looked down at the copious notes in front of him, and his nose would no longer clear, no matter how many times he tried throughout the afternoon.

They finished at five, and once the advisers had left, Sam sat back down at the huge table and once more rested his aching head on his forearms, breathing stertorously through his mouth. He mulled over the anti-logging petitions he had heard today, worried that these people all relied on him to push their case. And the lumber company representatives he had seen last week had also offered some redeeming features, including employment. Just two more major meetings tomorrow. And Josh was off to Nebraska. Sam wished he was going to Nebraska instead of meeting with another round of tree-huggers.

A sharp tap on the window surprised him, and he looked up - Leo poked his head in the door,

"Sam, you look like hell. What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing, Leo, I, ah, I caught a cold. That's all." Sam ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I'm just heading back to my office. Need anything?"

"No. Get some sleep tonight, will ya?" And Leo was gone. Sam shrugged at no-one and tidied up his notes.

* * *

Nearly nine p.m. and the Bullpen was quiet and still. Josh, backpack slung over one shoulder, leaned on Sam's doorway, watching Sam read, one of his favourite things to do when Sam wasn't aware of him. He watched Sam cough softly and sniff, absently reaching for a tissue without taking his eyes off the page. His hand missed the tissue box and knocked over a large glass of water. The liquid rushed for freedom across the desk and all over Sam's pants. He yelped and leapt to his feet.

"Klutz!" murmured Josh fondly.

Sam's head shot up, "I heard that!" He pulled the wet fabric away from his thighs. "Dear God, that's cold!" He sniffed loudly.

Josh waved his backpack. "C'mon, grab your bag. We'll go straight home."

"I haven't" (sniff) "finished the" (sniff) "address yet."

"Bring it with you."

Sam didn't need much convincing. He mopped up the water, packed up his laptop and briefcase, and grabbed his coat. Josh won the argument over who was driving, because Sam was sodden and starting to shiver.

Once home, Josh shoved a frozen Sam towards a hot shower and set about ordering in some dinner. Sam wandered into the living room a short while later, wearing a ski sweater, track pants and woolly socks.

Josh raised an eyebrow, "Sam, it's spring!"

Sam plonked down on the couch close to Josh, leaning back and closing his eyes. He was still shivering a little, and Josh grimaced at the whiteness of his face and the redness of his nose. He laid a hand on Sam's thigh, squeezing gently.

"I'll turn up the heat, okay? Coffee?"

Sam opened painful eyes, squinting watery blueness, "Mmm, coffee'd be great." He really sounded thick with cold, and he ran a hand up and down his ear. "I need to get on with that speech."

"Wait 'til we've eaten."

Sam rolled in and pressed his forehead against Josh's shoulder. Josh wrapped an arm around him. Their bodies shook in unison as Sam coughed. Josh slipped his free hand against Sam's forehead, "You feel kinda warm."

Sam wrapped an arm across Josh's stomach as he leaned in closer. "It's just a cold." He rattled them both with another cough.

"That cold water bath in your office can't have helped." Josh smoothed down Sam's hair, still damp from the shower. "Hope that cough doesn't get any worse. And I'll be away tomorrow night. If it gets bad, you gotta go to the doctor." He felt a tiny nod against his shoulder. "No, really, Sam, you don't want to get another chest infection." Sam sniffed and rolled out of Josh's embrace reluctantly, reaching for a tissue.

"Okay, okay."

"Right. I'll get the coffee."

* * *

Tuesday

Dawn brough heavy rain to the District - Josh tumbled awake before the alarm, his hair a wild halo of unruly, early-morning curls. He realised Sam's bedside lamp was on, and rolled over onto his stomach. Sam was leaning back, propped up on several pillows, a book open on his lap, glasses perched precariously and slightly askew on the end of his nose - and he was asleep. Josh raised himself up onto his elbows and enjoyed another uninterrupted look. Sam's cold had clearly worsened - Josh could hear the laboured breathing through his mouth, and even as he watched, Sam coughed. Josh could hear the wheeze and rattle that always seemed to tag onto Sam's colds these days. He made a mental note to book Sam a doctor's appointment before he flew out to Nebraska at eleven. Sam would never do it - he hated going to the doctor, mainly because he hated admitting he was unwell.

Just then, the alarm burst into life on Sam's side. Sam jerked awake, his glasses flying down onto the floor. He reached out, switching off the shrieking clock, and slumped back into the nest of pillows, to find Josh watching him intently.

"Hey," he croaked, breaking into another raspy, crackly cough.

Josh winced, "Ow! Sam, that sounds awful."

Sam cleared his throat, "It's just early morning stuff, Josh. I'll be fine in an hour or so."

"You need to go see the doctor."

"No, honestly, I'll be fine." Sam threw back the covers and leaned down to rescue his glasses.

"I'm making you an appointment anyway."

Sam huffed in irritation and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

At Staff meeting, they prepared themselves for dealing with the GM scare. Leo started with CJ, "Don't bring it up. Any questions, say members of Senior Staff will be in Nebraska this afternoon to investigate the entire matter. We will have more details available once their report is complete."

CJ made a couple of notes. Sam chose to fill the break with a long coughing fit, everyone frowning with concern at the sound of phlegm shifting in his lungs. Toby leaned forward, "Sam, that doesn't sound so good."

Josh looked across at him, "I've made him a doctor's appointment 3 p.m. Bonnie can make sure he actually gets there." Sam rolled his eyes and gave Josh a sharp kick in the ankle.

CJ caught Leo's eye again, "What exactly is our stand on GM - we ARE talking about genetic modification here, right? I searched for GM on Yahoo and was inundated with sites for General Motors!"

Josh sniggered loudly. "Don't you dare laugh, Joshua." CJ reached out and smacked him in the arm. "You've had your moments of idiocy in front of the Press. I work long and hard to avoid emulating you."

Josh laid a hand across his heart, "CJ, I swear I would never mock you. What do you want to know?"

"Where we stand - what's our approach."

Josh shrugged, "Food is a global problem, the population is growing from six billion to maybe nine billion or more; eight million people are already malnourished. There's a belief in some research circles that GM can fix that problem - better crops, stronger crops." He shrugged again.

CJ frowned, "So, what's exactly wrong with that?" She didn't notice Josh lay a warning hand on Sam's thigh.

Toby steepled his fingers, "It's just a technical fix. GM technology is part of the larger question of environmental integrity. Eighty per cent of Europeans have made it clear they don't want GM food at all."

"But they're not starving. What if GM could banish world hunger?"

Sam cleared his throat, brushing aside Josh's restraining hand and rising to his feet to pace, "CJ, the Green Revolution didn't do it and GM crops won't do it either. We have to consider horizontal gene transfers, vanishing biodiversity- "

"Sam- " Leo was smiling.

"-the disappearance of some native crops- "

"Sam- " Toby's voice was also laced with humour.

"Is corporate agriculture going to hold sway over the farmers- "

"SAM!" That was Leo, Toby and Josh. Sam stopped mid-pace. At a nod from Leo, Josh stood up and flung an arm around Sam's shoulders, guiding him towards the door. He grinned over his shoulder.

"Okay, CJ, that's pretty much our stand. I'll just take this one-man GM protest league out for a little less coffee and a couple of tranquillisers." He bundled Sam through the door and, clutching one arm, escorted him back to the Bullpen. Once in Sam's office, he let go of his charge's arm and pushed him into a chair.

"Right, now listen up."

Sam grinned coyly up at Josh, "Are you taking charge?"

"I am!" Josh tried to look stern. "Sam, you're really not well. We can all hear your lungs trying to breathe. I don't want a repeat of last time, where you were a raving loony with a temperature of 103 and I had to practically nail you up against the wall to keep you breathing for three days."

"Josh, I'm sure this is just a cold." He spluttered desperately, trying to smother a cough.

"Yeah, tell that to the judge. Does it hurt much when you cough?"

Sam looked away.

"Sam?" There was silence for a moment.

Sam finally looked up at Josh - their eyes locked, one probing pair challenging one defiant pair.

"Sam?"

"A little." He shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

"Was that so hard to admit? Please, please go to the doctor."

"All right."

Josh dropped a quick kiss on the top of Sam's warm forehead. "If I don't see you later, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

Sam sniffed, "Take care." He brushed his fingertips against the back of Josh's hand, and they both felt the electricity from that lightest of touches. Then Josh was gone.

Sam sighed and stretched out in the chair for a moment, closing his eyes. He knew he was heading for a fall. He didn't want to admit it, but every time he coughed he felt like someone was slipping hot knives between his ribs. He rubbed one hand back and forth across his ear. Only twenty minutes to the next tree meeting, followed by a polish up of the President's address for the South American delegates. Then another tree meeting, and to top it all off, a trip to the doctor before the five p.m. function. Sam gently massaged his temples before resorting to another painful round of nose- blowing and coughing.

Bonnie tapped on the door-frame, "Sam, you all right?"

Sam stood up and smiled. "Yeah, I'm fi- well, I'm getting by."

"Messages are on your desk with your schedule. Coffee? We're all getting one." "Yes, please."

Sam was soon buried in a meeting with members of the California and Oregon Forestry Protection Leagues. They were hung up on something CJ had said a long time ago, in the very first days of the campaign... -CJ, what's Senator Bartlet's view on logging? -Logging, you mean, cutting down trees to make wood and paper? -That's the one, CJ. -Well, the Senator's an avid reader, so I guess he's in favour of a little paper making...

Sam was totally gobsmacked with their referring to this. He felt the heat of his anger rising to overtake his slight fever, and when this reference came up a third time, Sam's lips thinned and his jaw tensed (signs that would have had, and often did have, Josh running for the door, Sam hard on his heels). He cleared his throat,

"Look, that was a statement made years ago by someone just getting into the political arena. You CANNOT hold on to this as some indication President Bartlet will be lining the pockets of lumber corporations. Move into the present. Come here with relevant material. I'm on your side, but I've no time for you if you're going to continue with this attack. Reschedule when you're ready for a rational discussion."

He stood up, thrusting his chair backwards, and began to collect his notes. The leaders both leapt to their feet and came around the table.

"Sam, Sam, we accept the reference was unacceptable. It won't come up again."

"Please let us finish the meeting."

Sam sighed noisily and ran a hand through his hair. "All right, Let's get this done." They all resumed their seats and quickly covered the rest of their proposals. It was a tense atmosphere, everyone aware that Sam was clearly unwell and irritable, and that they had come in from a poor and unnecessary angle. An hour later they were finished.

Sam crossed the hall towards the Bullpen, feeling shattered. He glanced down at his watch, and felt a sudden lurch of nausea, washing through his body like a wave. He put a steadying hand against the wall, feeling beads of sweat across his forehead. It passed after a moment, and he straightened and continued in, thankful Ginger was not at her desk. He didn't feel like answering any more questions about his health.

Toby was already in his coat, stuffing papers into his briefcase. He looked up as Sam came up to the door.

"Sam, I checked the draft for the address tonight. It's fine. I've sent a copy over to the President. You need to get started tomorrow on some ideas for that musicians' function."

"Toby, I really don't know much about music."

""Find someone who does. I'll be back mid-afternoon tomorrow. And get some sleep tonight. You look like death warmed up."

"Gee, thanks."

Josh appeared in the doorway, swinging an overnight bag. "Hey, Sam." He frowned at Sam's pallor. He dropped the bag in the doorway and walked right up to him. "How're you feeling? Really?"

Sam looked across at the window, then back to Josh. He felt himself melt a little in the warm brown of his partner's eyes. Josh pulled Sam into a quick embrace, "Don't forget the doctor - three o'clock."

Toby rattled his bag, "Let's go!"

* * *

Sam's final meeting was his easiest, and he was back in his office by two p.m. Bonnie brough him a bottle of water.

"You can't spill this, can you?" Her eyes were twinkling.

"Josh is a dead man."

"You have to be out of here in half an hour."

"I know, I know."

"I'm just saying..."

"Thanks."

Sam began to work through the mountain of paper his seven meetings had produced. He pondered over how many ghosts of trees were sitting right there in front of him in that paper. He started making summary notes. His phone rang, breaking his concentration.

"Sam Seaborn."

"Hey, croaky!" CJ "Got your glad rags ready for five o'clock?"

Sam glanced across - his black tie suit was hanging in the corner. "Yeah."

"You sound awful. Lucky no-one's asking you to speak. What time's your doctor's appointment?"

"Did Josh put you up to this?"

"All right, I'll leave you in peace!"

"See you later."

There was a knock, and Charlie approached his desk. "Hey, Sam."

Sam sat back, "Charlie, what can I -" His question died as he broke off into a long, chesty cough.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded, taking a drink from his water bottle.

"There's been a change in the guest list for this evening."

"Wh- who?" spluttered Sam, trying not to cough water all over the desk.

"One of the Argentinian delegates." Charlie checked his clipboard. "A Senor del Garda has been replaced by Juan Carlos de Siego. I said I'd get back to them, because we need to run a check on guests, but they seemed to assume it was a done deal."

"de Siego?" Sam frowned, running the name through his memory banks. "It sounds familiar."

"He was a Senior Adviser in the government there in the 1980's." Charlie handed Sam the bio. Sam processed that for a minute, before things clicked into place. His jaw dropped open and he paled visibly. Charlie was worried.

"You don't look so good. Is this bad?"

"I'd better talk to Toby."

"Won't he be in the air?"

"Yeah. I'll get back to you."

Charlie backed towards the door, "Okay. Thanks, Sam."

Sam tried to take a deep breath, wincing as he felt his lungs burning, struggling to get a decent head-clearing breath in around the inflammation and fresh bout of crackly coughing. Bonnie appeared at the door again, looking concerned.

"Sam, you should..."

"Can you get Toby on the phone? Right now!"

"Sam, you're supposed to be leaving, like, five minutes ago."

"I have to talk to Toby NOW."

"But- "

"Bonnie, " Sam cleared his throat, "it'll have to wait." He leaned his sore head into the back of his chair, rubbing his ear tiredly. "Please, just get Toby for me. It's really important." Something in his tone told Bonnie not to argue any more.

"Ziegler."

"Toby."

"Sam, what's up?"

Sam quickly described the change in guests, and the problem he could envisage.

"You sure this is the same de Siego who was responsible for hundreds of disappeared people in the 1980s?"

"I read the bio, Toby."

"Right. Well, either he doesn't come, or we have to make some sort of reference to it in the address, don't we?"

"Uh-huh." Sam tried to cover the phone as he coughed.

"You sound terrible. It's probably too late to stop him coming now - talk to Leo, and draft out a few lines we could insert, show we know who the hell this guy is."

An hour later, Sam had spoken with Leo and the President, and had drafted a few short, subtle remarks about human rights, which they slotted into the speech. He had called Toby back to confirm the wording and could finally relax for a minute. It was nearly four-thirty p.m. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt awful, and to top off the cold, the cough and the headache, he could feel an increasing pain around his right ear, and realised it had been bothering him all day. He couldn't decide what that was, it was just something else to add to his misery. He wondered what the weather was like in Nebraska. Josh should be there by now. It was still raining outside, a heavy rain coming straight down like a blanket of water, dulling his office, despite the overhead lights and desk lamp.

Sam found D.C. rain oppressive and controlling; it seemed to seep within the very walls of the West Wing and eat away at everyone's good humour, especially his own. He tried imagining a glorious, sweltering day, the sun glistening on the lawn in front of the White House, the sky bright blue...

"You awake in there?"

Sam's eyes flew open at the sound of Leo's gravelly voice. "You did a good job on that Argentine thing, Sam. That could have put the President in a difficult spot with the Press tomorrow if you hadn't noticed."

Sam sat up a little straighter, pleased with such unexpected praise from Leo.

"Tha- " he croaked, finding the rest of the word lost somewhere in his throat.

Leo raised his eyebrows. He was already dressed in his black suit and tie. He perched on the corner of Sam's desk and gazed out of the window, "Some rain, eh?"

Sam nodded, feeling the inside of his head bobbing about like a cork in the ocean. He cleared his throat, "It's meant to clear up later this evening - hard to believe though." He coughed noisily.

"Did you make it to the doctor?"

"Uh-uh. I had to do the speech thing."

"Aw, hell, Josh'll kill us all."

"Don't worry, I can't imagine he'll survive a trip with Toby. I think you're probably all pretty safe!"

"You should go anyway. You sound pretty bad. Are you going to make it through this thing at five?"

"Yeah, sure. I'd better get dressed."

Leo slipped out of the office, leaving Sam feeling somewhat giddy - he rarely scored praise from Leo; he seemed to spend most of his time avoiding a confrontation with him, or getting berated, even good-naturedly, for having caused one. And they rarely agreed openly on issues. Sam smiled lightly and peeled himself out of his chair to go and get dressed up.

* * *

Towards the end of the function, Sam crept into a corner and nursed a glass of OJ. He felt unable to talk to another dignitary - he was awash with Spanish and tissues and cold, and he was totally miserable. Luckily the main party was making their way out of the room and the waiters began to clear up the dishes and glasses. Sam stared into the swirling patterns of the juice, watching the tiny segments float and dip in the almost opaque liquid. A firm hand on his shoulder broke into his reverie, and he looked up at CJ.

Sam smiled a tiny smile, "Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?"

CJ was wearing a sky-blue silk dress, just the colour he had tried to conjure up to rid himself of the rain earlier. She smiled at him tenderly.

"You did, Samuel, and thank you again." She held out her hand, "C'mon, get changed, I'm taking you out to dinner."

"Now?"

"Yes. And then I'm taking you home and putting you to bed, Leo's orders."

Sam spluttered, "Leo?! You discussed me and bed with Leo? In the same sentence?"

"Relax. He's worried about you. I get this part of the evening off to make sure you're all right, seeing as Josh is away."

Sam flushed with embarrassment. "CJ- "

She tugged at his arm, "Let's go, before some new crisis arises!"

* * *

They ate at a small café. Sam pushed most of his food around his plate, to CJ's consternation. His head felt heavy and clogged, and his cough was no better. During coffee, CJ suddenly reached out and took hold of his hand, which had been gently massaging his ear.

"Sam, what's wrong with your ear?"

"Huh?" Sam stared at her, perplexed.

"What's wrong with your ear? You keep rubbing it."

"I do?" CJ glared at him "Well, it was a bit sore before."

"Before what?"

"I dunno." Sam suddenly sounded sullen. CJ smiled at his child-like demeanour. "Sam, I'm not going to give you a detention."

He smiled at her then, and she was amazed how winning that was, despite his pale complexion and sore nose. She stood up, determined to help him. "C'mon, I'll take you home."

* * *

They stopped at an all-night pharmacy, and CJ spoke to the pharmacist, buying some things to ease Sam's symptoms overnight. When they reached his place, CJ was brisk and business-like, sending Sam off to get some sort of pyjamas on while she made a cup of tea for them both. When he returned, in a demure t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, she sat him down at the kitchen table and lined up the medicines they had purchased. "Here, take - ah - " CJ squinted at the label, "20 mls, that's four teaspoons every four hours of this bottle, and two of these capsules every- " another squint at another label, "four hours too. Well, that's easy."

"Can I take them both at the same time?"

CJ frowned at him. "I certainly don't think you're supposed to wake yourself up every TWO hours to take these alternately! Are you just trying to be difficult, Sam?"

"No, of course no- ahh ahh achoo!" He blew his nose. "I really do appreciate this, Ceej. I'm sorry. I just feel so..." She waited, raising an eyebrow. Sam squirmed. CJ waited pointedly, raising another eyebrow. There was a lengthy pause. Finally Sam sighed, "You win! I feel awful, Ceej. My head feels like a hundred buffalo are running back and forth inside my brain cavity, and it must be empty because the echo of their hooves is incredible. My nose is so sore from blowing it I can hardly bear to touch it. My eyes are like a sandpit, and my ear is aching. I have a sore throat and my chest is on fire." He eyed her defiantly. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Wow!" She sat back, stunned. "Samuel Seaborn, that's the first time I think I have EVER heard you say how you really feel. You must be unwell! Take all that medicine right now and drink your tea. You need to get to bed."

"Please don't tell me you're going to tuck me in?"

"Why else would I be here, Sam?"

A little later, CJ sat on the edge of Sam's bed. He leaned back tiredly against the pillows, and blinked heavily, "It's only nine o'clock and I feel really sleepy. I can hardly keep my eyes open." He looked up at CJ, a small frown between his eyebrows.

CJ flushed slightly, "Sam, that decongestant, I had a chat with the pharmacist, well, he made a mixture that also contained a fairly powerful sedative - by the way, you mustn't drive or operate heavy machinery for the next eight hours!"

"CJ, you drugged me!"

"You're sick and exhausted, Sam! You need a good night's sleep - something Josh tells me you're bad at at the best of times."

It was Sam's turn to look embarrassed, "Josh discussed my sleeping habits with you?"

"Josh and I share all sorts of things, something you could do a little more of, Spanky. None of us can help you if you don't talk to us." Sam looked down, fiddling with the piped seam of the duvet. CJ's hand closed over his.

"Sleep time now."

Sam yawned, "Okay, Ceej. Thanks. G'night." His eyes slowly closed, then opened, "I can't believe you drugged me..." his eyes closed again and she could tell he was asleep in a minute. CJ smiled a tender smile - Sam was really a very special person. She wasn't sure why he was so fiercely independent, but imagined it had something to do with his upbringing. He just seemed so lonely sometimes. She really couldn't fathom how Josh, so driven, such a political animal, often so totally egotistical, could bring to a relationship the things Sam needed. Whatever they were. CJ shrugged in confusion. She loved both of these guys. As long as they were happy...

CJ stood up and smoothed the duvet out, drawing it up over Sam's shoulders. She smiled inwardly - he'd die of embarrassment if anyone knew about this. She switched off the lamp and slipped out of the apartment, heading back to the West Wing.

Leo stopped CJ in the corridor.

"Good, you're back. Where's Sam?"

"Fast asleep in his bed."

"Already?"

"I slipped him a sedative." CJ was triumphant.

Leo nodded in appreciation, "Good job." He handed her a sheaf of papers, "Here's the first briefing from Josh and Toby. You'd better look over it now. We've had to schedule a Press statement at 10.30 tonight. I need you to do it."

"Just for this?"

"Yeah - we wanted to keep a lid on it, but it's already out there."

"Oh. Right. Fine." CJ headed for her office.

* * *

Wednesday

Sam slowly woke up, dragging his eyes open. He felt clogged up and stupid with cold. He rubbed his eyes a few times, blinking, feeling like his head was packed with cotton wool. His slight movement dislodged all the congestion that had settled overnight and he coughed painfully for a couple of minutes. At last, he leaned back into the pillows and blew his nose. He glanced at his watch and nearly inhaled his handkerchief in surprise and shock. Coughing and spluttering, he grabbed the bedside clock and stared at it - same time - 8.15. Sam's eyes grew wide. He threw back the duvet and leapt out of bed - a bad move. His head seemed to swing on a separate axis and he stumbled sideways, falling against the wall with a loud thwack! He sat on the floor stunned for a moment, rubbing his shoulder, then remembered why he was in a hurry. He clambered to his feet carefully, monitoring the state of his head. It seemed all right...

Sam sat down on the bed and phoned the office.

"Ginger!" A terrible raspy version of his voice - he hadn't realised how croaky he was. He desperately tried to clear his throat.

"Sam, how are you?"

"I - ah - Ginger, I, I'm still at home."

"It's all right, Sam. CJ warned us you might be late. Are you coming in or staying home?"

"I'll be in as soon as I can."

"Don't hurry. Everything's fine here."

"Oh hell, I don't have my car."

"Use Josh's."

"I'd never drive that. I don't even think it goes. I'll catch a cab. See you soon."

Ginger's phone rang again.

"It's Toby. Put me on to Sam. His cell's off."

"He's - ah - he's not available right now."

"Why? Where is he?"

"He'll be in a little late this morning."

Ginger heard Toby relaying this information to Josh, who must have grabbed the phone, judging by Toby's grunt of irritation.

"Ginger. What's wrong with Sam?"

"Nothing too bad, Josh. And good morning to you too. It's just, he wasn't too well yesterday, and he slept in. He's on his way."

"What did the doctor say?"

"Ah- " Ginger looked about wildly, scrabbling for support, but there was none there. "I...don't know, " she finished lamely.

"He didn't go, did he?"

"When are you due back?"

"Ginger!" Josh sighed. "We'll be back by four."

* * *

Sam arrived perfectly pressed and completely pale at a quarter to nine. Bonnie greeted him warmly, "Hey, Sam. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." It was automatic and they both knew it was untrue. "What's my schedule like?"

"I cleared most of it. You need to meet that Monsignor at twelve, at the Cathedral Office. I couldn't change that one, because the Cardinal is coming here next week and we'd already agreed to go there for the meeting. Will you be able to do it?"

"Yeah, course. What else?"

"There's one more tree group I couldn't put off, it's a reforestation experts group - they desperately want to see you before you make your summaries. I slotted them in at three."

"Okay."

"And the Musicians Awards Recipients speech is supposed to get started today. I booked the room for ten - Ed and Larry are getting a team ready."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Music! Get Larry on the phone, please."

He headed into his office, trying desperately to walk in a straight line. His office felt cold and he immediately began to cough, holding onto the bookcase for support. He winced as the cough seemed to burn from the inside. Bonnie appeared behind him with a new bottle of water. His eyes streaming yet again, Sam let her lead him to his chair, and she sat him down.

"You really shouldn't be here, Sam."

"Can you make it warmer in here? I'll be fine in a minute or two." He accepted the water gratefully.

"Larry's on the line."

"Thanks."

Sam spoke to Larry about the need for a musical advisor of some sort, preferably before they met at ten o'clock. He began to work on the logging proposals again, realising he had hardly done any real work on that yet.

* * *

At quarter to twelve, Sam set out on foot for the Cathedral Office. The weather was clearing, at last, and a warm spring sun brightened the damp streets, glistening flashes of sunlight catching in the fat, shiny raindrops. Cars splashed noisily through leftover puddles, and at the intersection Sam glanced up at the sky, hoping for a rainbow.

He stopped finally in front of the Cathedral, taking a measured look at the grandeur of the architecture, the vast walls, the massive doors gleaming wetly, the very power such a building seemed to impose on the lesser structures nearby.

Sam turned and headed towards the Offices - it made a change to prepare for a Presidential meeting outside of the West Wing, a necessary precaution to avoid any publicity at this stage.

The offices were humming with activity - keys clacking, fax machines buzzing - Sam was surprised. He had imagined something quiet and holy and reverent. He paused in the doorway as another bout of coughing racked through him, leaving his head spinning for a moment. He felt a light touch on his arm - an older woman was standing there, a concerned expression on her face. Sam looked at her apologetically, still coughing and spluttering, and she took him by the arm,

"Come and sit down." She led him into a small parlour and helped him into a chair, before sitting close beside him. She waited a moment while Sam tried to regain his equilibrium, then leaned forward. "You appear unwell. Can I get you some water?"

Sam smiled and shook his head, clearing his throat, "No, really, I'm fine. Thank you." He placed a hand on his painful chest, trying to overcome the burning in his lungs, "I have a slight cold at the moment. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise. You looked a little unsteady out there, that's all."

"I was. Thank you again." Sam wiped a hand across his face. "I'm here to see Monsignor Brady. I have an appointment."

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Of course." They both stood up. Sam felt the steadying hand on his arm again and was moved by the warm concern of this stranger. They left the parlour and walked down a thickly carpeted corridor, the office noises fading away to nothing. An open door, darkly panelled, led into a small reception area. The woman knocked on a second door and a voice called for her to enter. She poked her head around the door and explained there was a visitor. Immediately, the door was flung open and a tall, lean man in a clerical suit bounded forward, hand extended,

"Liam O'Connor. You must be Sam Seaborn. It's good to meet you." He had intense, dark-blue eyes behind owlish, steel-rimmed glasses, and he gave off waves of vibrant energy. Sam felt like a limp rag in comparison.

The Monsignor eyed the woman who had accompanied Sam to his office, "Anne, would you mind getting us some coffee?"

"Sure, Father." Her eyes twinkled, "Be nice to this man, Liam, he's not feeling very well."

Sam blushed slightly, as the priest fixed him with a powerful stare, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, just a cold." Sam smiled reassuringly at both of them. Anne rolled her eyes (how familiar was THAT, mused Sam) and departed to make the coffee.

They settled quickly into an animated conversation about those two most tricky subjects, politics and religion, before settling down to the matter at hand, a visit from the Cardinal, bringing with him two Bishops from Rwanda, a country desperate for help to regain some sense of decency. There were some very difficult issues involved in this potential meeting, and every facet of the meeting and its outcomes needed to be carefully planned and prepared. Sam tried hard to concentrate, but found his head ringing and thumping, which seemed to affect his hearing. He had to keep asking the priest to repeat his comments; fortunately Monsignor Brady seemed to understand Sam wasn't feeling his usual self and remained patient throughout the meeting.

Two hours later, they decided they had covered every potential outcome and could look at a next visit in the West Wing, with Sam and Toby. Sam packed his notes into his briefcase. As he made to stand up, the Monsignor reached out and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Sam, I'm no medical expert but I have a strong feeling you should be in bed."

Sam looked at him, a little startled. "I..I..."

"No, I mean it, Sam, I don't like to see people in distress, and you are clearly unwell. I can hear how congested you are and as an asthmatic I know how uncomfortable that is, believe me! I can also tell you're in pain - ears? Headache?"

Sam was visibly uncomfortable under the Monsignor's intense scrutiny. He looked down at the carpet.

"Sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to make you squirm. I know how the job can seem more important than how you feel, believe me, but you are a very smart and perceptive young man - turn that on yourself, and take a good look - you are pale, sick, tired and right now, rather deaf. Go home, get some rest, see a doctor." Sam felt embarrassed but also somehow moved again, for the second time in two hours people he didn't know were being so kind. He felt his eyes blur unexpectedly and he blinked rapidly, fiddling with his briefcase. The Monsignor let go of his shoulder and they stood up, shaking hands warmly.

Sam made it back to the West Wing just before his three o'clock meeting. He was finding it increasingly difficult to walk in a straight line - his head kept tipping slightly inside, making level surfaces appear to tilt rather unnervingly. He was heading back into the Bullpen when an unfortunate lurch somewhere between his ears presented itself, and just as Bonnie and Ginger looked up with smiles of greeting, Sam walked smack into the doorway. He bounced backwards and landed on the floor. By the time the two assistants reached him, blood was flowing freely from his nose, splashing down onto his jacket, tie and white shirt.

"Sam!" They both bent down to help him, before Bonnie doubled back for a box of tissues. She mopped at the worst of the blood flow before getting a rather stunned Sam to squeeze his nostrils closed, while Ginger collected his fallen briefcase and coat.

They took an arm each and eased him to his feet, leading him to the nearest seat, Ginger's. She zoomed off to the washroom for a wet cloth, while Bonnie kept an eye on Sam. He appeared a little dazed and unresponsive, so she tried holding up fingers and asking Sam how many. He got them all right, so she relaxed a little. Ginger returned and they helped Sam to take off his jacket and clean up some of the blood. He began to cough suddenly, which created chaos, as the blood flow, which had slowed, began to speed up again in earnest, streaming down Sam's face as his body shook with chesty coughs. The two assistants eyed one another with concern over the top of Sam's head. Bonnie shrugged, and they both tried to help Sam staunch the flow.

Unfortunately, at that particular moment, Leo arrived in the Bullpen to look in on Sam. He found his Deputy Communications Director leaning over a towel at his assistant's desk, blood all over his shirt and tie, his nostrils pinched shut with a bloody hand, a second towel pressed beneath his nose. His face was so pale it appeared translucent, and his blue eyes leapt in distress as Sam caught sight of his boss.

"What the hell?!?" Leo stopped dead in the centre of the Bullpen. Ginger and Bonnie froze. Sam froze. Leo appeared frozen. There was a deathly silence. Nobody moved.

Finally Leo took a couple of hesitant paces towards Sam. He peered down at the younger man's face, trying to form words that might help him elucidate what had gone on.

"Sam, what the hell happened to you?"

Sam went to answer but this only brough forth another choked cough and a fresh trickle of blood between his fingers.

Leo stared at Sam with a sort of stunned irritation, "Don't even try to speak!" and turned to Ginger, "What's going on here? Who did this to him?"

Ginger shrugged. "He was coming in, and he just walked right into the door."

Bonnie cleared her throat, "He has a meeting in about five minutes."

"With?"

"Reforestation."

"Is it a big one?"

"Not really."

"Get Ed and Larry to do it." Bonnie went to the telephone. Leo looked back at Sam, who was squinting worriedly over the red-stained towel pressed against his nose.

"You!" Leo pointed. Sam raised a fearful eyebrow. "You are going home right now."

He turned to Ginger, "When are Josh and Toby back?"

"In about an hour."

"Can you take him home - in a cab or something? Now?"

"Yes, sir."

Sam began to splutter in protest. Leo glanced in his direction.

"Shut up, Sam."

Ginger unlocked Sam's door and eased him into the living room. She glanced admiringly around - it was a very tidy but cosy room. Sam had been very quiet all the way home, and she could tell he was a little shocked. Ginger wasn't sure how to handle Sam out of the office. She walked him over to the dining room table and sat him down, leaning forward with elbows on the table. His nose seemed to have settled down, but looked very sore.

"Where's the bathroom?" Sam pointed across the room towards the hallway. Ginger managed to produce a warm flannel and towel and helped Sam to have another wash. He had removed his tie, and now unbuttoned his white shirt. It was crimson splattered and rather soggy, as was the now-pinkish undershirt. On Sam's instructions, Ginger found him a clean t-shirt, and then made him a cup of coffee.

"I'm gonna get back now, Sam. Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Sam nodded. "Thanks, Ginger. I can't believe Leo made you do this."

"I'm glad he did. You need to take that coffee and go to bed, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

After Ginger had left, Sam wandered into the bathroom and had a peek at himself in the mirror - he was surprised how awful he looked. His face was so white and his nose was so sore and red at the end. He pouted miserably at his reflection, wishing Josh was there.

He dabbed at the end of his nose with another flannel, unwilling to risk any nose-blowing in the near future. He decided to give his head a rest, and headed into the bedroom for a lie down.

* * *

It was dark when Josh reached their apartment. He had enjoyed driving Sam's car home, and was looking forward to seeing Sam. Ginger had described the run in with the door-frame and Josh was a little concerned about the state of Sam's health.

The apartment was in darkness. Josh flicked on the lights as he crossed the living room, and did the same in the bedroom. Sam was curled up in the centre of the bed, on top of the covers, fast asleep. Josh sat down carefully and brushed Sam's fringe aside to get a better look at him. Sam's eyes blinked open sleepily, and he smiled gently up at Josh.

"You're back!" A croak.

"I am. And you - what have you been doing to yourself? I've been gone twenty-four hours and you get sent home from school with a bloody nose."

Sam struggled into a sitting position, his hair hedgehog-like, his t-shirt rumpled. He cleared his throat, "How was Nebraska?"

Josh was staring at Sam, "Man, you look awful. Sam, did you ever even get to the doctor?"

Sam shook his head and began to cough, causing Josh to wince in sympathy.

"Fine. Since you can't look after yourself, I am going to have to do it for you. I am taking you to the doctor tomorrow, no matter WHAT comes up. Y'hear?"

Sam gave a little nod. He looked so unwell, Josh was moved to uncharacteristic tenderness. He scooted up the bed a little and wrapped his arms around Sam, holding him in a close embrace. He could feel the raggedness of Sam's breathing, the tiny wheeze that tailed after each out-breath. Sam seemed to melt against him with some sort of relief, and Josh felt Sam's arms close around his own back. They were silent for a minute.

"You really are an idiot. Ginger told me how you walked into the door. How did that happen?"

Sam's voice was muffled against Josh's shoulder, "It was the door-frame. And I have no idea how it happened, just felt a bit weird in the head for a moment."

"Yeah, well, I'll go find us some food." Josh peeled himself out of Sam's embrace, eased himself off the bed and headed for the door.

Sam cleared his throat again, "Josh - " he turned and looked at Sam, "Josh, I - I'm glad you're back."

* * *

Thursday

The telephone fractured their sleep at 3.30 a.m., jarring them apart. Leo was on the line, so Sam passed the phone across to a dazed Josh. It was an offshore military coup and they were needed in the West Wing right away. Sam stumbled into the shower while Josh asked Leo questions, and was ready to get dressed as Josh hung up the phone.

"You okay, Sam?" he flung over one shoulder as he rushed towards the bathroom. Sam began to get dressed. He felt very odd, and was still coughing badly.

Sam balanced on one leg, leaning forward slightly to pull on his pants. He felt a lurching sensation inside his head, and suddenly he couldn't see which way was up. He landed on his ass with a heavy thump, one leg in his pants. This brough on another bout of crackly coughs. Glad Josh was in the shower, Sam levered himself up onto the bed, feeling an odd floating sensation somewhere behind his forehead. He wriggled his second leg into his pants and shuffled them up without actually getting to his feet.

Breathing heavily through his mouth, Sam tried to get to his feet. Again the room seemed to sway and tilt. He sat down again, frowning.

The shower switched off. Sam began to panic. He had to get up. He didn't want to miss out on the chance to experience the fallout from a military uprising. He closed his eyes and rose very slowly to his feet. He could feel the unsteadiness in his head but was able, as far as he could tell, to remain upright.

Josh headed into the bedroom, a towel around his waist. He stopped dead at the sight of Sam standing half-dressed beside the bed, eyes closed, swaying precariously.

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes flew open and he immediately dropped like a stone behind the bed. Josh hurried around, dropping his towel in his haste. He found Sam struggling to lift himself off the rug.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

Sam tried to focus on Josh and ignore the motion of the floating bedroom. "You're naked!" He grinned admiringly.

"Yeah, can we just focus here?"

"I'm just a bit dizzy."

"Okay, back into bed."

"No, Josh, c'mon, I've gotta be in on this!"

"Fine. Get up then!" Josh stood up and took a step back.

Sam looked up at him, grinning again, "You're looking good!"

Josh glanced down at his naked form, "Yeah, well. I'm getting dressed, you see if you can get yourself upright." Josh headed for the wardrobe. Sam sat there for a minute, then used the edge of the bed to lever himself up. He stood there, eyes closed for a few moments, then slowly opened them and looked across the bed at Josh. Who had frozen, mid-tying of his tie, staring at Sam.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

Sam slowly sank down onto the edge of the bed and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. Josh came and sat beside him. He put an arm around Sam's shoulders, "What's going on?"

"I'm having a little difficulty standing up."

"That's a big problem."

"No, I'm sure it's just, you know, this cold. Josh, please help me, I really want to be in on this one." Sam's blue eyes were pleading and Josh couldn't help but reflect the excitement he was feeling over the same thing.

"D'you think once you're up-"

"I'll be fine."

"And if you're not?"

"Bed."

"No driving."

"You can keep the keys."

"I'll get you a shirt."

He paused halfway to the wardrobe, as Sam began to cough, "Sam, maybe this is a bad idea..."

"No!" Sam spluttered vehemently, wiping watery eyes, "C'mon, Josh."

"Okay, okay!"

Sam dressed quickly, leaning against the bed for support. Josh came in rattling the keys, "Let's go!" Josh wrapped an arm around Sam and steered him towards the door. He could feel the crackling of Sam's congested lungs and the nervous tremors rippling through his agitated frame.

They were halfway there when Josh sensed something was wrong. Sam was gasping tiny, light breaths, very fast. Even in the dull glow of the instrument panel Josh could see beads of sweat across Sam's forehead. His eyes were squeezed shut. Concerned, Josh pulled over to the side of the road.

"My driving's not that bad. What's wrong?"

"I'm - fine - just feel - bit - nauseous."

"Sick? You're gonna be sick?"

"No, I - no, just - I - Oh God!" Sam sprung his seat belt and flung open the car door. He rolled deftly onto the sidewalk and threw up. Josh climbed out of the car and looked around. Thankfully the streets were pretty quiet. It was still quite dark, with that wonderful stillness that comes just before the dawn. He moved over beside Sam and helped him to sit sideways on the passenger seat. Sam felt shaky and damp. "What caused that? Five minutes and you're car-sick?"

Sam gave him a weak smile, "Yeah, I've regressed! You know, I was sick on every family car trip. My father hated that." Sam closed his eyes for a moment, then swung his legs back into the car, "C'mon, let's go."

Josh straightened and closed Sam's car door. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Still, they had to get going.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?" Leo was already in his shirtsleeves, papers all over his desk. Josh wondered if he'd even gone home. "You only live down the road." Josh knew that was an exaggeration, but decided 4 a.m., a coup and a crabby Leo were three reasons to keep his mouth shut for once.

"Anyway," Leo continued, "I need you to get over to the Embassy, get Donna to meet you there, set up a direct line to me, get everyone in a meeting and get the whole position clear, then get the Ambassador back here by six. I want you to brief me every fifteen minutes. Got it?"

"On my way."

* * *

Toby swept into his office and slapped the light switch.

"Sam! In here." Sam stood up carefully. Josh had deposited him in his office fifteen minutes ago, and he had already begun to draft possible responses based on past experiences with the same country. He picked up his pen and notebook, and was pleased to find he could walk across the office without a problem. Feeling more confident, he turned into Toby's room. However, that confident turn wasn't such a good idea. Toby's floor seemed to be set at a forty-five degree angle and Sam felt things sliding inside his head.

"How's the cold?" Toby was still unpacking his briefcase.

"Uh - " Sam tried to find a place on the steep slope for his foot. "I - uh - " He stared as the entire room seemed to slide slowly sideways into a pile by the wall.

Toby, irritated by Sam's lack of response, looked up in time to see Sam staring dazedly back at him for a moment, mouth open, then dropping in the doorway, pen and notebook flying into the room. Sam hit the floor with a crash.

"Ow!" He struggled to his hands and knees as Toby came around the desk to crouch on one knee beside him. Sam felt a warm hand on his back. He warily opened his eyes a crack, and was relieved to see the furniture back in place, the floor horizontal.

"You can't have tripped! You were standing still!"

"Sorry, just a bit dizzy." Sam clambered to his feet, Toby clutching one arm supportively. They moved over to the couch and sat down.

"Dizzy? Why? Is it your cold?" Toby could see and hear Sam's congested breathing. "Have you eaten anything?"

Sam groaned, "No food! No, really, Toby, I'm fine. Probably got up too fast this morning... I've made some notes."

Toby rose and retrieved Sam's notebook and pen. "Let's see what you've done so far."

They began to plan their strategy for dealing with the Press.

* * *

By five a.m. CJ was at Toby's door. "What've you got for me?"

Toby indicated Sam, who had his cell phone pressed to his ear, his forehead wrinkled in effort. "Sam's talking to Josh right now." They both looked at Sam, who was frowning deeply.

"What? Say that again? Yeah, okay, yeah." Sam made a note. "Mmm, what, say that again?" Sam kept writing. "Huh? Sorry. What? No, Josh!" Sam looked up in defeat. "He's pissed at me cos I can't hear him. He wants to talk to you. It must be a bad line." Toby came over and took Sam's phone. Sam leaned back on the couch with a sigh which became a loud and painful-sounding cough. CJ winced.

"Sam, you shouldn't be here."

Just then, Toby snapped the phone shut. "The line was fine, Sam." He dropped his voice, "Can you hear me?"

"Huh?" Sam looked over at him, startled.

CJ frowned at Toby, "What's going on?"

He held up a finger to stop her. "Sam, what am I saying now?" His voice was clear but very quiet.

"Huh? Toby, I can't hear you."

"Josh was right. Your hearing's been affected by this cold. So. We get this job done then you go home. Agreed?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Right." Toby turned to CJ. "The military coup took place this morning, 0245 hours our time. We would not normally be involved- no, directly concerned?"

"Prepared to comment," threw in Sam.

"Yes, prepared to comment, but their foreign minister is due to meet with the President tomorrow evening at a trade delegations function. We cannot support any form of military takeover, and we will be monitoring the situation closely over the next few hours. It is believed there are no casualties at this point."

CJ nodded. She looked back down about Sam, "What about him?"

"I need him right now, first to brief you then to do my meeting with the Far East preparation team at 0800. Can you do that, Sam?"

Sam nodded. He blew his nose noisily; this brough on another bout of coughing which seemed to go on and on. CJ sat beside him, a cup of water magically in her hand. She patted him absently on the back as Toby took another call. He sat down at his desk and began making notes. Sam's cough eventually settled and CJ handed him the water.

"Thanks," he whispered, not willing to trust his luck with a greater effort.

"You sure you don't have pneumonia or something?"

"I'm fine, Ceej, it's just a cold." Sam wiped at his eyes with a tissue.

Toby looked up at them, "The soldiers have taken over a government building and wired the whole thing up with explosives."

"Are there hostages?"

"Apparently several hundred office workers. We have to talk to Leo." Toby and CJ stood up. Toby looked across at Sam, "How's the head?"

CJ whirled around, "What's wrong with his head?"

"He was dizzy - fell over in the doorway."

"Toby- " Sam sighed.

"When was this?"

"Just before."

Sam shut them both up by rising carefully to his feet and lightly laying a hand on CJ's shoulder for support. CJ could feel the tremor of Sam's hand gently vibrating through her blouse. She took a firm grip on his upper arm, "Let's go." Sam shot her a grateful glance as they headed to Leo's office.

The next hour reflected a whirlwind of activity. Josh had returned to the West Wing with the Ambassador and the visiting Foreign Minister, and they had met with Leo and the President. By seven a.m. Sam had briefed CJ three times, based on Toby's information from Josh and Leo. CJ was trying to ignore Sam's pale features, his awful cough, his difficulty hearing and the distracted way he kept passing a hand over his ear. They had locked Sam down at Toby's desk because there were more telephone lines.

Sam was exhilarated by the rush and energy of the situation, so many careful statements to issue in a hurry. He found he could cope well if he sat as still as possible, letting his brain work without moving any part of his body unnecessarily. Ginger ran interference, fetching any files or messages for him, aware of how fragile he was.

An hour later, things had settled to a standoff and Sam had to take Toby's Far East meeting. He rose and paced carefully across the office to the door. Ginger's head popped up, "Good luck, Sam." He made it across the hall to the meeting room. There were five delegates waiting for him and they all rose and bowed slightly. Sam bowed in return - and dropped straight to the floor in a heap. A loud 'ow' arose from under the table. Using a chair for support, Sam straightened, embarrassed to find all of the Asian delegates leaning slightly forward in confusion.

Sam settled into his seat and indicated everyone do the same. He knew he was blushing slightly and tried to regain some sort of equilibrium.

"I'm sorry. I'm not feeling so well, I lost my balance." The men nodded, understanding at last. They had clearly been perplexed by Sam's disappearance behind the table.

They sat and discussed plans for the Far East delegation to visit with the President. After nearly an hour, Bonnie arrived with some tea. The aroma of the tea seemed to slice right inside Sam's brain, and he felt another chilling wave of nausea. Teeth clenched, he fought desperately to control the retching that threatened to overtake him. As Bonnie handed him a cup of hot water, he tried to ignore her pointed glare of concern.

Another thirty minutes and the groundwork was complete. Sam farewelled the delegates and crossed back to the Bullpen, feeling exceedingly unbalanced. He tried to control the now almost continual nausea, and put a hand on Ginger's desk as he passed to steady himself.

"Sam!" There was a yell from Toby's office - Sam could see Josh and Leo in there with Toby. "Sam, c'mon in. It's over!" Sam had taken two steps into Toby's office, realising CJ was there as well, when the dizziness overwhelmed him again. Reaching for the bookcase for support, his grasping hand collected a handful of air and he stumbled sideways, crashing into Josh. They staggered backwards, thumping against the bookcase. The entire thing began to sway precariously, and with a rush Toby's seventeen binders crashed down on top of the two men, effectively shoving them to the floor, where they landed in a tangled heap of arms, legs and ring binders.

Josh crawled out of the pile first, then turned to rescue Sam, who was as white as a sheet. His nose was bleeding profusely again.

"What - " Leo was stunned. "That was incredibly klutzy, Sam."

"He's ill," stated CJ between gritted teeth. "He needs to see a doctor and go to bed."

"Ill? I thought it was a cold."

"It's more than that."

The three Senior Staffers watched Sam and Josh finish untangling themselves from the debris and stand up together, Josh supporting a rather confused Sam. They stood there side by side, Josh panting and Sam trying to find something to staunch the fresh flow of blood. He finally found a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, swaying slightly in Josh's grasp.

Sam squinted nervously at Leo before turning to Josh, "I'm sorry..."

"You flattened me!" Josh was grinning. "And I was having such a successful morning."

"It just got better for the rest of us, Josh." Toby looked carefully at Sam. "You are going home NOW."

"But why does he keep keeling over?" CJ was frowning.

"Josh." Leo eyed his Deputy. "Take Sam to some doctor right now, find out what's going on in his head, get him home and call us from there. Right?"

Josh nodded, dusting off his pants, one hand still holding on to Sam. Sam attempted to look calm and collected, but felt the nausea rising. He leaned towards Josh and hissed between clenched teeth, "Get me out of here, I'm going to throw up."

They went.

* * *

The doctor leaned back in his chair and looked from Josh to Sam and back again. He shook his head in wonder, "I can't believe you've been working like this."

Sam sat there, embarrassed, fiddling with his second blood-splattered tie of the week. "We had a lot on this week..." he tailed off miserably.

The doctor sighed, "Sam, you have a bad cold, a nasty chest infection, and I would have thought that was warning enough to take it easy, but you also have an ear infection and, I'm fairly certain, judging by your inability to walk in a straight line, an inner ear infection as well." He turned to Josh, who at least could look him in the eye, "He's off work for the rest of the week and I want to see him on Monday BEFORE he goes back."

An hour later Josh once more sat on the edge of the bed, watching Sam relax into a semi-reclined position against the pillows. He took Sam's hand in his own and waited for Sam to look him in the eye. There was a long, powerful silence, blue eyes and brown meeting and somehow merging in understanding. Sam finally looked away to cough.

"Well." Josh heaved a huge sigh. "Looks like you're not going anywhere for a few days."

Sam wriggled restlessly, "What'll I do?" It was almost a wail.

Josh smiled at his misery. "Read a book! Catch up on sleep. You could really enjoy this."

Sam huffed. "But I haven't summarised the tree meetings, I haven't reported on the Far East preparation, I -mmmfw!" Josh had pressed his hand across Sam's mouth.

"Stop!"

Sam's startled blue eyes glared at Josh.

"Are you going to relax?" It was a warning.

Sam nodded rapidly, his head bobbing with Josh still attached. Josh took his hand away and Sam drew in a breath, gasping and choking, then coughing wildly for a minute. Josh realised he had effectively cut off Sam's only means of breathing.

"Oops, sorry!"

Sam managed a shrug. There was another silence. He grinned at Josh, "There are easier ways to kill me. Preferably while I'm asleep."

Josh pulled Sam into a fierce embrace. "I couldn't do this without you."

Sam hugged Josh back, leaning into his warmth, closing his eyes and really relaxing for the first time that week.

That'll do!


	7. Cutting a Deal

**Cutting a Deal**

**by:** Jen

**Character(s):** Sam   
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** Drama  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** Sam makes himself unpopular cutting a deal.

Sam had been uncharacteristically slow to get ready this morning, and Josh hovered impatiently by the door.

"C'mon, Sam, we have Staff in less than an hour." He frowned, jiggling Sam's keys, as Sam appeared in the doorway, tying his tie. Josh opened his mouth to continue, but closed it again as he took in Sam's overall appearance. Dressed for work in the morning, Sam tended to sparkle, spectacularly so. But this particular morning, Sam looked awful. Even neatly pressed, Josh could tell he was out of sorts. He stopped jiggling.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm fine. Let's go." Crossing the living room, Sam held out his hand for the keys.

"Uh-uh." Dropping the keys into his coat pocket, Josh leaned against the door. "Spill."

Sam sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes, "I'm just a bit tired, that's all."

"You slept last night?"

"Yes, I slept."

"And..."

"And that's it. I'm fine."

"Oh, c'mon."

Sam caved, "All right, I have a horrible headache. I'm cold. My eyes hurt." Sam's tone had risen with each item on his list. "Will that DO? Can we GO NOW?"

"Okay, okay!" Josh held up a hand in surrender. Forcing Sam to admit to something personal always seemed to create tension. He drew out Sam's keyring from his pocket, but ignored Sam's outstretched hand. "I'm driving."

* * *

Senior Staff was focused on a new rider for the Education Bill.

"We're losing Anderson, and he takes at least three votes with him." Toby tapped his pen on his folder. "That's four votes. It'll swing this thing out of our reach."

"We can pull it back."

"How, Josh? We don't have Anderson on a rope."

"Well, we should. He's a loose cannon."

"Who're the other three?"

"Brackett and Cooper, for sure."

"Davis?"

"No, I talked to him last night."

"Then it must be Overton. He's close to Cooper."

"Ooh, Sam can do Overton!"

"Josh! Do you realise how that sounds?"

"Oh, c'mon, CJ, you know what I mean. Overton owes us - Sam got him out of the Rivers mess."

"Fine. Sam, get a meeting with Overton right after this meeting."

"Not here. Pick some neutral territory."

"There's neutral territory in D.C., Toby?"

"We need this one, Sam."

Josh glanced speculatively at Sam, knowing he wasn't feeling well. Sam was sitting very straight, very still, his face a careful mask. Josh could see the pressure of his lips, his eyes unreadable behind his glasses, his skin pale.

Leo looked from Sam to Josh and back again. He frowned. "You feeling all right, Sam?"

All eyes swivelled towards Sam, who shifted uncomfortably under their gaze.

"I'm fine."

CJ looked over the top of her glasses, "You do look a little off-colour."

"I said I'm fine." There was a magnificent, weighty silence as everyone continued to stare at Sam. He squirmed noticeably.

Leo looked at Toby, "Can you do it?"

"I'm on the Hill in thirty minutes. You up to this, Sam?"

"Of course. I have a headache, that's all. Okay? Can I go get on to meeting with Overton now, cos I really think we need this Bill."

Leo took off his glasses, "Fine. Get moving, everyone. Josh, got a minute?"

* * *

Sam stood shivering at the crossing signal. The washed out autumn sunlight failed to give off any warmth at all. He turned his collar up then buried his hands deep in his overcoat pockets. His head was really thumping, despite taking a couple of aspirin after the Staff meeting. As the signal buzzed, he checked the traffic, feeling a dull ache even as his eyeballs moved from right to left. Overton was waiting at the park entrance.

"Hey, Sam. Not a bad day for November." They shook hands. "Man, you're freezing. Wanna head for that coffee place over there?"

Sam flexed his fingers, "Sorry, Chris. Yeah, hot coffee sounds like a good idea."...

"So, Sam, how's it going in the West Wing?"

"Good, good. It's busy. Long hours. Endless meetings."

"Including this one."

"Know why I wanted to see you?"

"I can guess."

"Go ahead."

"The rider..."

"Yeah."

"What do you want?"

"We need to move this one along. Why are you all backing off now?" They locked eyes for a moment.

"I'm being pressured from another side, Sam." Overton's gaze dropped to the table. He ran his finger around a few crystals of sugar, bulldozing them into a tiny pile. 

Sam frowned, "Is it Cooper?....Chris?"

Chris Overton flicked his eyes up for a moment, "Maybe."

Sam wondered if he really had the strength for this today. The hot coffee was having no impact on his frozen system. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, surprised to find a welcome warmth. He wished his head would quieten - it was, he thought distractedly, rather like a bongo. Taking a deep breath, he realised he had to get this job done. He lowered his hands and looked at Chris, who was gazing at him with his head on one side.

"You look like shit, Sam."

"Yeah, I feel like it. Look, Chris, we really need Cooper and the others on board for this vote tomorrow."

"The others?"

"You know who I mean."

'Anderson and Brackett."

"Yeah. Come on, Chris, we're in a bind here, and-"

"And I owe you, right?" A hint of anger.

Sam lowered his eyes. "I get pressured, too, you know?"

Overton sighed, "Yeah, sorry, Sam. Okay, I'll go back - it's just - Coop is backing Anderson, and he's..."

"He's what?"

"He's miffed about being left out of the Honours dinner."

"He wants an invite?"

"Can you wangle it?"

Sam flicked out his cell phone, pressed the speed dial. "Josh? It's me. Can we add Anderson to the Honours dinner?"

"Will that clinch 'em?"

"Yeah."

"Done. Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Cold. See you later." Sam dropped his phone into his pocket, and stood up.

Chris stood up as well, "The only thing is-" he hesitated, "Coop's not going to like this. He's kind of...I dunno, a bit anti you guys at the moment."

"He needs to remember who his boss is."

"Yeah." They moved on.

As they reached the road, Sam turned to the young Senator.

"Thanks, Chris. I really appreciate this." They shook hands.

"For God's sake, Sam, get some gloves. Your hands, you're like the ice-man. And I'll fix it with the others."

"Let me know?"

"Sure."

* * *

Re-entering the West Wing, Sam was so cold, he had trouble signing in.

"You'd better get yourself some gloves, Mr Seaborn," offered the guard. Sam shrugged ruefully and made his way to the Communications Bullpen. He was feeling slightly unsteady. Ginger smiled up at him.

"Hey, Sam. Is it really cold out there? Your cheeks are rosy."

"Ginger, I don't think men should get labelled with rosy cheeks." He flopped down in the spare seat by her desk and rubbed his eyes. Ginger reached out and put a hand against Sam's cheek, to feel the cold - she was surprised to find it blazing.

"You're roasting. Where've you been?"

He held out one frozen hand, "Ginger, I just got called ice man. I'm freezing here."

Ginger took his hand in both of hers and held it, evaluating him quizzically. Sam closed his eyes.

"Sam? I think you might have a temperature. A fever. Is it flu or something? How do you feel?"

"Pretty grotty." Sam opened his eyes and flung her a weak grin. "Is Toby back yet?"

"No, I'm expecting him soon though. Are you going home?"

Sam shrugged, "I'd better get some stuff done here. Could you maybe get me a coffee?"

"I think OJ would be more sensible. And aspirin."

"Whatever." Sam wandered into his office, shrugging out of his coat.

* * *

There was a sudden bustle of noise in the Bullpen.

"Where the HELL is TOBY ZIEGLER?" Ginger's soft voice was inaudible. Sam left his desk and crossed his office in time to meet a furious senator in the doorway. His huge face was bright red - he had obviously rushed directly to the West Wing from somewhere, without stopping for breath. Sam took a hasty step backwards.

"Seaborn!" The name spat out.

"Senator Cooper." Sam took another step back.

"You rail-roading sonofaBITCH!" Cooper stepped right up in Sam's face again. Sam could feel his hot breath spurting out with every expletive. He took another step backwards and felt his rear end bump the desk. He tried to look for Ginger but Cooper had stepped closer, preventing any other view but that of his furious visage.

"Senator, I was..."

"Don't even try to make excuses, you weaselly prep-school slimeball. I HATE changing my vote because some snotty KID puts the hard line on one of my compatriots." Sam's feverish brain was creating visions of steam clouds pouring out of Cooper's ears - he stared, fascinated at the sight before him, oblivious to the danger he was in, and,

BOOF! There it was. The Senator punched Sam hard in the stomach. Totally surprised, Sam's breath whooshed out of his body and he fell forwards, as the Senator stepped backwards. Sam collapsed to his hands and knees, his mouth opening and closing frantically, desperate for air. Cooper suddenly seemed to come to his senses. He backed off a couple of paces, swore and dropped into one of Sam's chairs, his face buried in his hands.

A horrified Ginger brushed past him and crouched down beside Sam, who was now kneeling, bent over, his arms wrapped around his middle protectively. He was still gasping for breath. Ginger placed a hand on his back, "Sam?"

At that moment, Toby appeared in the doorway, frowning at the dramatic scene. "What the hell is going on here?"

Ginger looked up, relieved to see him. "He hit Sam."

Cooper lifted his face from his hands, the rage having morphed into a mask of fear and regret.

"Sam, I am so, so sorry. Toby, I don't know what came over me. I just lost my head. Sam, I...I really am sorry."

Sam had moved slightly to sit on the floor, his back against the desk, knees drawn up protectively. He swiped a hand across his face.

"I don't care," he whispered. "Just get out of my office." He closed his eyes and leaned his head on his knees.

Cooper's gaze shifted to Toby again. He opened his mouth to protest but Toby's glare silenced him.

"You heard him," growled Toby. "Get out of here." Cooper rose dejectedly and left. Toby looked down at Sam, then Ginger.

"Get Josh."

* * *

How on earth could he hit him?" Josh was striding along the hallways, Ginger jogging to keep up.

"He was raging. He just went straight at him. Poor Sam. He was already feeling sick."

"I know. But how could he hit Sam? Here, in the West Wing. How can that happen?"

Josh made a beeline through the Bullpen for Sam's office. Toby was pacing beside Sam's still form. As soon as he saw Josh, he nodded tersely.

"I'm going to make some calls."

Josh crouched down next to Sam. The office was suddenly very quiet. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and could feel his tenseness through the cotton of his shirt. And the heat. Sam was definitely feverish.

Sam slowly lifted his head and looked at Josh. Josh nearly lost himself in Sam's eyes. They were so hurt, wounded...and the blueness, misty with fever and almost-tears, was still intense, and Josh found himself swallowing a lump in his own throat.

"You...you okay?"

Sam blinked slowly, heavily. "Yeah," he whispered, his eyes glistening. Josh sat down beside Sam and leaned back against the desk.

"I just can't believe that could happen. Did you say anything to him first?"

"Nothing. He arrived like that. Josh, I never saw it coming. I wasn't ready for it. He just came at me and took me out." Sam swiped angrily at his eyes for a moment. Josh put an arm around his shoulders.

"No-one expects that to happen here, Sam. We're all supposed to be above that sort of thing...Man, you're hot! You feel like a - like a roast potato."

"Nice imagery there, Josh. My head really hurts. And I'm really not hot. I'm cold."

"Trust me, Sam, you're very hot." Josh gave Sam's shoulders a squeeze. Sam leaned into Josh a little. He had been feeling totally shattered after Cooper's assault. It had shaken the security he had thought would come with working for the President. And it really hurt. Every breath he drew in seemed to assault his nervous system.

"Well, this is cosy!" They both looked up to find CJ standing in the doorway. "Toby is flinging grenades next door, and you two are sitting back having quiet time!" She walked in and sat down, staring at Sam. "You okay?"

Sam shrugged, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Sam?!"

"I don't feel so good right now," he amended hastily.

CJ snorted powerfully. "I could wring that idiot's neck with my bare hands, then rip his head right off!"

Leo joined them. "What the hell kind of day are we having?" He looked down at Sam, "How're you doing, kid?"

Sam sighed. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"You want to press charges?"

"Leo, not now-"

"No, of course I don't." They paused as they heard an angry tirade from the next office.

"Toby wants his head on a plate."

"He'd better start packing."

"Josh, I think you'd better take Sam home. CJ, any questions come up about this, Sam has, ah..."

"The 'flu. He really does."

"Really?"

"He's burning up here."

"Go."

* * *

Sam gingerly leaned back on the pillows as Josh squinted at the thermometer. "STILL over 101. Let me take that t-shirt off you for a while." Josh eased the shirt over Sam's head. He sat on the side of the bed, and laid a gentle hand across Sam's stomach. "Still sore?"

"Yeah."

"The Bill goes through tonight."

"I know."

"You know what Leo would say?"

"What?"

"Ya did good, kid."

"I got hammered by a stinking senator, Josh."

"But he lost, Sam. We won."

"I'm not sure if I'll remember this conversation tomorrow."

"We can have it again."

Sam's eyes started to close, then opened again, "The Bill's going through?"

"Yeah. Go to sleep."

"You know, I'd like to say I'd cut the deal the same way next time, but I'm not so sure...I think..."

"What?"

"I think next time I'd go back and wait in CJ's office. She would have flattened the guy!"

"Before or after she ripped his head off?"

"I'll ask her tomorrow," mumbled Sam, closing his eyes.

End...


	8. Mall, The

**The Mall**

**by:** Jen

**Character(s):** Sam, Josh   
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Sam  
**Category(s):** Drama  
**Rating:** TEEN  
**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Aaron Sorkin etc  
**Summary:** Sam has a problem with malls.  
**Author's Note(s):** The first of two mall stories.

It probably began with the coffee mug incident. Sam was trying to clean up the apartment, working his way through the rooms with a damp dustcloth. Working his way around Josh, who had spread himself across the living room couch, table and floor with a seemingly endless pile of Sunday newspapers. He came across a coffee mug of Josh's nestled on a shelf among his contract law texts. It had pasted itself to the bookshelf and came away reluctantly, leaving a sticky ring on the wood.

Sam had whirled around, furious, holding the dirty mug aloft,

"This is the third empty cup I've found this morning, Josh."

Josh turned a page, barely registering Sam's irritation. "Sorry." His eyes never left the newspaper.

"You don't give a damn, do you?!" Sam paced in front of the bookcase, brandishing the coffee mug.

Josh sighed, still not looking up. "It's just a coffee cup. I'm not going to get all anal over a piece of crockery."

"I am NOT getting anal. I just like to keep this place clean. For the miniscule amount of time we spend in this apartment, you seem to have an enormous capacity for creating an extraordinary mess."

Josh glanced upwards, annoyed at Sam's tone. It was Sunday. He was tired. And he wasn't in the mood for Clean-up Sam. He narrowed his eyes, knowing exactly how to grate on Sam's fractured nerves,

"Miniscule? Extraordinary? Capacity? Sam, you've been dusting the dictionary again. It's Sunday, for God's sake, let's just use little words."

"Josh-" Sam flung out his arms in exasperation and the coffee mug smashed into the shelf, disintegrating in Sam's hand.

"Dear God, you're such a-"

"DON'T say it!" Sam snapped, bending down to retrieve the broken shards of china.

"But you really are, Sam."

Sam straightened, his lips a tight line, gingerly clutching the remains of the mug.

"Shut the hell up, Josh." He stormed into the kitchen, dumping the china with a crash into the bin. A moment later, Josh heard the bedroom door slam. He sighed in relief and went back to reading the paper.

Sam steamed across the bedroom and threw himself into his favourite chair by the window. He hissed out some angry air between his teeth, trying to calm down. He glanced at his tightly clenched left hand, unwilling to investigate the sharp stinging there while he was so cross. Running his other hand through his hair, Sam then leaned his forearms along the windowsill, propping his chin on his sore fist. He let his eyes stray across the world beyond the glass. The morning sun had a cool spring brightness, catching every leaf and twig without revealing the depth of the colours; Sam felt he was somehow washed in a gentle water-coloured image of his own garden, the hues subtle and changing, lacking the brilliant clarity of summer but possessing a quiet confidence in its own pastel beauty.

Sam sighed loudly, enjoying the view, forcing himself to calm down a little. He closed his eyes after a moment, tiredness welling up over him like lava, spilling down through his brain, his eyes, his chest, sweeping through his churning stomach. He felt the heaviness of relaxation as his breathing slowed and steadied.

The telephone rang. Sam ignored it. He heard Josh pick up, then raise his voice,

"Sam, it's Toby. I took it in the kitchen."

Already, his footsteps were padding back to the couch. Sam knew from past experience it was easier to just go to wherever Josh answered rather than battle for him to hang up in the kitchen so Sam could take it in the bedroom. He rose wearily, his hand still closed in a tight ball, and headed for the telephone.

Josh was already buried deep in his newspapers again. Sam passed through into the kitchen and sat down at the table, picking up the phone with his good hand. He laid his still tightly clenched fist alongside the phone cradle.

"Hey, Toby."

Five minutes into Sam's conversation, Josh wandered into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. He glanced across at Sam, leaning on one elbow, eyes closed, trying to concentrate on whatever Toby had to say. Josh started with surprise as he caught sight of Sam's other hand, little trickles of red sliding around his whitened knuckles.

Frowning, Josh fetched a flannel and ran it under the hot tap. He sat down at the table and took Sam's hand in his own. Sam's eyes flew open in surprise, but Josh kept his eyes down. He turned Sam's hand over and slowly forced his fingers open, mopping up the trickles of blood with the warm flannel. He found three ragged little cuts. He closed Sam's hand around the flannel, then rose and collected disinfectant and band-aids from the kitchen cupboard, putting the kettle on before sitting down again at the table. He took the flannel and dampened it with disinfectant, then began to wipe Sam's hand. Sam gasped, causing Toby to stop talking,

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I - ow - Toby, can I call you back?"

The phone clicked dead. Sam looked across at the top of Josh's head. "I'm - ow - I'm sorry about the - ow - about the coffee cup thing... can you go easy with that stuff, it stings!"

"How the hell do you do these things to yourself?" Josh patted Sam's hand dry and unwrapped some band-aids. He sounded more tired than irritated.

"I can do this." Sam tried to withdraw his hand but Josh held on.

"You've got three cuts here. Sam, you think it was a dumb idea to be waving a coffee cup next to a bookcase?"

"I'm not sure I WAS thinking. I'm sorry."

This time Josh looked up for a moment, and he smiled at the earnest blue eyes staring at him. "Just hold still while I get these covered up."

Sam nodded, flinching slightly as Josh covered the first cut. He squinted painfully at Josh, "I went into a sort of cleaning frenzy." He scrubbed his free hand back and forth across his eyes. "I think I'm just tired."

"Did you sleep much last night?"

"I'm not sure really, I -ah...yeah?" he tailed off.

"Sam?"

"Maybe not so well." He shrugged, then stiffened, "Ow!"

"Okay, hold still, one to go."

* * *

Two hours later, Josh leaned back on the couch with a satisfied sigh. He had read through all of the papers and magazines piled around him, and was ready for a late lunch. He turned his gaze to the still form next to him on the couch. Sam was sprawled bonelessly into the corner of the couch, dark hair hanging forward across his eyes, his sore hand protectively entwined in his t-shirt. He had been asleep for over an hour, drifting away as Josh grappled with the New York Times Sunday Supplement. Josh was pleased Sam was getting some sort of sleep but wished he'd sleep better at night - he could tell Sam was going through a sort of jumpy phase, poor sleep, irritability, and cleaning - cleaning up constantly. Josh snorted at that. Sam stirred and blinked his eyes open slowly.

"What?"

Josh reached across and placed a hand firmly on Sam's stomach, feeling the light fluttering of his breathing and the tremor of electricity their contact caused.

"It's lunchtime." He stood up, suddenly restless. "C'mon, let's go out, get something nice to eat."

* * *

3 a.m. Sam prowled restlessly around the living room, straightening the chairs and smoothing out the cushions on the couch. He felt nervous and edgy. They had gone for lunch in a small arcade and Sam had been unable to swallow more than a few bites, jiggling in his seat and infuriating Josh no end. Finally Josh had reached the limit of his tolerance, which was pretty low at that moment, Sam having used up all of his get out of jail free cards during the morning. He had leaned forward and gestured for Sam to do the same. When their heads were nearly touching, Josh had put his mouth close to Sam's ear and whispered slowly and distinctly,

"I want you to go away, far, far, away for a long, long walk. I want you to get all this shitty restlessness out of your system, and when you get back I want you to start acting like a normal human being, if that's even remotely possible. You will stop the frenzied cleaning, you will sit still on the couch and you will eat a full meal tonight, or, God help me, I may not be responsible for my actions."

Josh had sat back with a tight, menacing smile on his face, and picked up his knife and fork. Sam had sat there, still leaning forward, frozen, a stunned look on his face. This slowly melted into a more wounded expression, but when it became obvious that Josh was not going to even look up again, Sam had sat back, meticulously folded his napkin, placing it at the side of his plate, stood up carefully and walked away.

The evening had brough a change of weather, a light rain and a cool wind. Sam had arrived back at the apartment soaked to the skin, long, uncontrollable bouts of shivering rattling his bones and clacking his teeth together. His keys had clattered all around the keyhole before he was able to open the door. He slipped inside, closing the door quietly, surprised to find Josh coming towards him, arms outstretched,

"Hey, Sam!"

Sam took a step backwards towards the door, "Josh, I'm wet."

Josh was undeterred and wrapped his arms right around Sam, who finally leaned into the embrace with a huge, relieved sigh. His shivering slowed as he soaked up Josh's warmth. They stood there, tightly locked, absorbing one another, their breathing rhythms coming together slowly, one cold tense body entwined with one relaxed warm body, one shock of spiky wet dark hair mingling with one set of lighter unruly curls. Josh finally moved his head a fraction,

"Sam, why didn't you come home when the weather turned?"

"I wasn't relaxed enough."

Sam wriggled his shoulders a little before tightening his arms around Josh. "I walked and walked but I still felt..." he paused, clearly unhappy with his own emotions, grappling for clarity, "Josh, I still feel so, so, I don't know, so intense." And he sounded so miserable, so defeated that Josh knew he had to do better than he had today.

"Shit, Sam, that didn't mean you had to stay out in the rain." He gave Sam a gentle shake, "C'mon, have a shower then I 'll find us something to eat."

* * *

Later, back on the couch, Sam had scrooched up into a corner, feet up, wrapping his arms around his shins and resting his chin on his knees. Josh was lazily eyeing Foreign Correspondent on television.

"Josh-"

He turned and focused his gaze on Sam's eyes, so incredibly blue, startlingly appealing. He felt himself drifting into the blueness, a glimpse of vibrant Amazon glinting in the rainforest, a snatch of deepest ocean stealing the distant sun's rays, the great bowl of twilight sky above an Arizona desert - Josh started visibly as Sam's toes poked him in the ribs. Good grief, he frowned at himself, where did all that imagery come from? He grabbed Sam's foot and ran a firm fingernail down the sole from toe to heel. Sam's body leapt and twisted as he yelped aloud,

"Yow! What was that for?"

"You've been a bad influence on me."

"Why? What were you thinking? You were staring at me."

Josh snorted, "I'm not sharing. I have an awful fear that I was just inside your head for a minute! Man, that was weird."

And now, at 3 a.m. Sam was awake and wired, and he'd only had four hours sleep. His eyes swept the room and he noticed irritably that everything was clean and tidy, dusted and orderly. Even Josh's papers were in a neat folded pile on the coffee table, and Sam knew better than to remove those before morning. He shook his hands nervously, flicking them from the wrist, then wiping them up and down on his t-shirt. Recognising the rising tensions within, Sam decided dubiously to return to bed, try to relax - there was only a couple of hours to go, and maybe he'd rest better lying down...

* * *

Waiting at the traffic lights, Sam stifled a yawn. He could feel Josh gazing at him, and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, looking everywhere but at the man in the passenger seat.

"What time?"

"Huh?"

"What time?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Don't get coy, Sam. What time did you get up the first time?"

Sam shrugged, "I dunno."

"Sam!" Josh's voice rose an octave with exasperation. "There could be a Force 8 hurricane and an earthquake simultaneously and you'd still tell me the exact time! I guarantee if I had to search for you two hundred miles into the Gobi Desert, and found you dehydrated, collapsed half buried in the sand, you'd later recount the tale that I found you at 2.17 p.m., gave you a drink at 2.18 p.m. and lifted you onto my camel at 2.23 p.m.! Don't give me that vague crap!"

Sam smiled slightly at this outburst, and eased his car across the intersection, focusing intently on the road. Josh shrugged, realising there was no point pursuing the issue right now - they were nearly at work.

Toby was calling for Sam even before he'd hung up his overcoat. Sam uplifted his coffee and wandered into Toby's office, plonking down on the couch.

"Hey, Toby, what're we in for today?"

He watched Toby unpack his satchel, dumping newspapers and files across the desk, creating an instant mess. Sam sipped at his coffee, averting his eyes from that disaster, flexing his other hand nervously. There was a silence for a minute, so Sam glanced back at Toby, who was staring at him. Sam raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Are you all right?" Toby frowned at Sam.

"Course I am. Why?" Sam looked down at himself. "Am I bleeding somewhere or something?"

"No, no, you just look a little-" he waved a grasping hand in the air, " a little - off."

Sam's eyebrows flew upwards, "Off? Like I've been out of the fridge too long?"

"No! Not that! You seem kind of edgy at the moment, that's all. Last couple of days. And now you look like you haven't slept."

"I'm fine."

There was a moment's challenging silence, then Toby shrugged.

"Okay."

He rifled through a pile of notes and produced a sheaf of closely hand-written notes.

"These are from Davis Holland. I need you to go through them and make a summary - they'll be valuable. It's just a shame he refuses to have anything to do with typing. I suppose you could get Bonnie to type them up first...have a look, whatever you do, I need a summary today. I have a meeting tomorrow with the fanatic farming field boys from Environment!"

Sam leaned across to take the notes. He frowned at the small writing, "Why does the best soybean expert we have access to have a phobia about typing? And what about a dictaphone? Tape recorder? Secretary?"

"Let's face it - he's a psychiatrist's dream, phobias flowing out of his fingertips."

There was a silence for a minute, and Sam bit his lower lip thoughtfully. He put his head on one side, looking over Toby's shoulder, "Toby?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think people with phobias should see a psychiatrist?"

"If it's interfering with their daily routine, ye-" Toby suddenly stopped, inwardly groaning at his choice of words, and came around the desk. He sat down on the coffee table right in front of Sam. "No, of course not, Sam. Sometimes it's better, easier, more manageable to just not get into a...uh, a challenging situation. It doesn't mean you need that sort of help." He rubbed his forehead, "On the other hand, if a few chats with a brain-guy can get you back on track, there's no harm in that. Are you thinking about..." Sam stared hard at the report in his hands.

"No, no, just - okay, I'll get on to this. I think Bonnie's swamped anyway with the crime submissions, so I'll just grit my teeth and read the fine print."

He stood quickly, and slipped away from Toby into his own office. Toby stayed sitting on the coffee table for a moment, running over that last exchange in his head. He knew Sam was asking in a very obtuse way if Toby thought he needed help. Psychiatric help. And Toby really had no answer for that. Sam's phobia was harmless enough if he just avoided the one thing that set him off, it didn't affect his work, and he never mentioned it. So there was no reason for Toby to be recommending anything. But he could tell Sam was a bit uptight at the moment. He shrugged. An uptight Sam probably harboured more doubts than the cheerful version. He'd be fine by tomorrow. Hopefully.

Sam dragged his glasses off and placed them on the desk. He dumped the pages he'd been poring over, and rammed the heels of his hands into his eye-sockets, rubbing in hard, grinding circles, the pain of that pressure countering somewhat the piercing headache he'd acquired trying to summarise Holland's tiny script.

"Aaaarrgh!"

There was a humour-laden snort from the door. Sam released his eyes from their latest punishment and blinked painfully at the door, trying to find a long-range focus somewhere amongst the stars flickering around his line of vision. Josh sauntered into the room, his coat flapping. He walked past Sam and peered out of the window.

"Do you think that rain's gonna hold off? I have to head up to the Hill."

"It's meant to clear this afternoon."

Josh leaned on the back of Sam's chair and looked down at the top of his head.

"You looked like crap just then. What bizarre form of punishment have you come up with now?"

"Davis Holland and his very small handwriting - Josh, can't we find a better soybean expert, who can TYPE?"

"Headache?"

"Mmm." Sam closed his eyes and leaned into the back of the chair. Josh reached around and gently laid his cool fingers against Sam's temples. He rotated them in tiny circles, slowly widening then shrinking down again. Sam relaxed visibly, eyes still closed, shoulders softened, a contented sigh quietly escaping his lips. Josh made a mental note to try this again tonight. After a couple of peaceful minutes, Josh slowed and finally laid a hand on the top of Sam's head.

"Take it easy today, okay? No crises."

"Tell the country, will you? And Toby!"

"Sam, really, I don't think... nah, never mind, I'll see you later. Need to talk to Toby."

Josh slipped into the next office. Sam picked up his glasses with a sigh and began to read again.

Josh tapped on Toby's doorframe. "Got a minute?"

"Yeah, what?"

"I just- well, I have to, can you-"

"Spit it out, Josh!"

"I'm going up to the Hill - I'm a - can you just keep an eye on Sam for me? He's kind of-"

"Strung out?"

"You noticed?"

Toby glared at Josh, "I'm not blind or stupid. He's a walking trainwreck. I was just hoping he'd get through today in one piece."

Josh glanced involuntarily at the window into Sam's office, at the dark head bent over, reading. He smiled gently.

"Yeah, well, I'd better get going."

Toby wrote solidly for about twenty minutes, pleased there'd been no phone calls, but his mind kept drifting back to a niggling concern about his Deputy. Toby swung his chair away from his desk and began to bounce one of his little rubber balls against the cupboard, a rhythmic, soothing pattern that gave him space to think. Early on in the campaign, stationed in Colorado Springs for a 'break', he had taken Sam downtown from their motel to find a good site for a temporary campaign office. Sam had been raving eloquently about the skiing in the Rockies, keen for Toby to experience the majestic awe of the massive, snow-drenched mountains, waxing lyrical about the depth and texture of the snow, and the crisp clarity of the air, ignoring Toby's insistence that he would rather do just about anything else in the world before he would go skiing. They had passed over a couple of sites on Toby's list, and the third one was in one of the main downtown malls. As they neared the location, Sam stopped talking about the snow, in fact, he stopped talking about anything. Surprised, Toby had glanced sideways at his new Deputy and was perturbed to notice Sam had grown very pale, and was starting to slow the pace of their walk. The mall gleamed brightly just ahead, a huge construction in gleaming glass and aqua-coloured pipes, the electric doors hungrily humming open and closed for the shoppers.

Sam slowed to a stop near the door, running a hand nervously through his hair,

"Why, why don't you, why don't you go um go, why don't you go in and and I'll, I'll, I'll, I'll go on to the next one?" His hands were fluttering around one another, and he was rocking back and forth on his heels and toes.

"There's two in here we need to see, c'mon!" Impatiently, Toby had stepped in behind Sam, urging him forward, nudging him gently with his shoulder. Sam had stumbled forward slightly and they had been swallowed up by the gleaming monstrosity.

It was super-bright and noisy inside. The first site they looked at was just inside the door and not particularly suitable. They headed for the next one, Toby still mildly concerned that Sam was very quiet. As they moved into the throng of shoppers, music reverberating around the cavernous rooftop, Sam had bent his head down, shoulders hunched protectively, as if he didn't want to be seen. After bumping into three people, Toby grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out of the flow, against a garish, tile-coated pillar.

"What the hell are you doing?" He still had a firm grip on Sam's upper arm and realised belatedly that Sam was shaking. Toby ducked his head a little, to look at Sam's eyes. The young man was breathing rapidly, sharp, shallow breaths darting in and out, his eyes pleading.

Toby frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I -ah, I don't feel so well. Can we go outside?"

"Do you want to sit down?" A shake of the head. Keeping hold of Sam's arm, Toby had steered him back they way they had come. As they slipped through the doors, Sam shuddered and took in a huge breath.

"What was that?"

Sam hadn't answered. Irritated, Toby had flagged down a taxi and bundled Sam into the back seat. They rode back to the motel in silence, Toby then peeling Sam out of the seat and practically marching him up to the room he was sharing with Josh. The door was open, and Josh was reclining on one bed, reading brochures. He grinned up at Toby,

"Hey, you sure you don't wanna do a day-trip up to the snow? We'll just let you play, build a snowman!" Toby lugged Sam into the room and shoved him towards the other bed. Josh had sat up straighter, as Sam stumbled towards the bed, sitting down and burying his head in his hands.

"Sam, what's the matter?" He glared at Toby, "What did you do to him?"

"He decides to get ill in the middle of a shopping mall, for God's sake. I had to practically carry him outside."

Josh leapt off the bed, papers fluttering to the floor in every direction.

"You were IN a MALL?"

"You don't need to shout, Josh."

"Okay, okay," Josh ran a hand through his hair. "Toby, can you leave us alone for a sec, then can I meet you in a few minutes, maybe in the bar?"

Toby shrugged, "Yeah. Is he all right?" Sam hadn't moved.

"He'll be fine. I'll catch up with you."

Toby left, closing the door discreetly. Josh later told Toby he had sat down on the bed next to Sam.

"How bad was it?"

Sam's shoulders twitched slightly. Josh rubbed his hand up and down Sam's back for a minute. Finally, Sam lowered his hands.

"I was okay at first, we looked at one place, but as we went further in...I started to lose it." He looked right at Josh, his blue eyes full of distress, his face white. "D'you think he'll want to get rid of me? We were just starting to really do good work together."

Toby stopped bouncing the ball and squeezed it firmly, crushing it into an egg shape. Ginger tapped on the door, cracking his musings. She handed him a copy of his schedule.

"You have that meeting with Boyd in five, and Sam's nearly done with the summary. I'm going to type that up while he does the welcoming thing for the Belgians with CJ. Then you both have that funding review at eleven. Do you want to see the notes for the environment meeting beforehand? And then you have that dental appointment at two and the visit to the new suburban bushland park with the President at three-thirty. You saw the speech for that, right? Sam finished it on Saturday."

"Yeah, that all sounds good." Toby stood up, dropping the rubber ball into a drawer. "Thanks." He picked up his notes and followed Ginger out, sidestepping into Sam's office.

"How's the handwriting analysis going?"

Sam looked up, a pained expression on his face,

"I am right off soybeans, Toby, I swear, if anyone offers me a meal involving soybeans in the next forty-eight hours, I shall likely explode messily all over the room." He made a face, as if he could already see the mess his exploded body would create, and how would one tackle the clean-up job, sticky blood, chips of bones, skin, great globs of gore...

"Sam??! SAM?!!"

"Huh?"

"Please try to concentrate. You right for the Belgian thing?"

"Yep."

The soybean summary'll be finished?"

"Yep."

You're coming with me to the funding review? You're ready for that?"

"Yep."

"You sure? You don't look any better..."

"Toby, I am trying to sound cheerful here. Please humour me, I'm hoping it may eventually help me to FEEL better."

"I need you to draft some ideas for the opening of the new Children's Wing at the Sacred Heart Hospital. It's at the end of the week, but we may as well get it going. Just do some framework for now, get Bonnie to do the research this afternoon, maybe."

"All right."

Toby looked at Sam for a moment, causing Sam to shift impatiently in his chair, then he turned and left the Bullpen.

Sam picked up a pen. He began to craft a few sentences, something that always helped him to get into the mood of a speech. His first sentences rarely existed by the time the speech was finished, but they were the catalyst to spur him on his way. 'The best reason in the world brough me here tonight, our future, our children. The gift you generous people have brough is the ability to prevent the suffering of hundreds of children, our children, every year. Your extraordinary commitment to an incredible five years of fund-raising has enabled this charity hospital to open a glorious new wing devoted to the poor children, the marginalized, who are no less likely to become our teachers of the future, our soldiers, our bishops, our farmers, our scientists, our leaders. You are giving them a chance where there was no chance before...'

Sam sat back and glanced at his watch. His headache was easing, but he really had to finish the soybean summary. Grinding his teeth, he settled down for one last effort. Half an hour later, he was done, and done in. His head had a feeling he imagined was akin to a moose stepping on your head, over and over. Sam pictured the moose, a tall, gangly brown moose, with huge antlers and a tired face, large hooves lifting and dropping on his head...

"Sam, CJ wants to know if you're ready-" Bonnie stopped dead at the sight of Sam's distant features. "Sam?" CJ pushed past her and walked right up to Sam's desk. Leaning forward, she snapped her fingers right in front of his eyes. Sam's body leapt like a bolt of lightning had hit him. He stared at CJ, startled, and blinked in surprise.

"Sorry."

"Where had you gone?"

"Canada."

"Let's move, Spanky. We've got Belgians to welcome!"

* * *

"Charlie?"

"Yes, Mr President."

"There's a bookshop I want to visit."

"A bookshop, Mr President?"

Yes, Charlie." He rubbed his hands together excitedly, "This bookshop, it specialises in classics, poetry, early editions - it's my kind of store, Charlie."

"Yes, sir, we've been there before."

"No, no, this is another bookstore."

"And you felt a pressing need to go there because..."

"They've built a mall around it. It fought against the mall, and the mall went ahead but the store was allowed to retain its character, frontage AND oak tree growing right outside the door."

"An oak tree growing in a mall, sir?"

"It's a hundred years old! The mall design has incorporated the oak tree, in fact they rethought the whole theme of the mall, redesigned it with indoor gardens. This shop has character, Charlie. And I'd like to go there. Today."

Charlie sighed, "Where's the mall, Mr President?"

* * *

Sam had annoyed Toby no end during the funding meeting, and when they reached the Bullpen afterwards, he caught Sam's sleeve and jerked his head towards his own office. He let go of the sleeve when they were inside, and shoved Sam towards the couch.

"Sit!" The command barked out between clenched teeth. Sam eyed Toby nervously.

"What did I do? I backed you all the way. I made good comments."

"You wriggled in your seat. You bit right through a pencil!" Sam blushed slightly at that. "You polished your glasses eleven times. You lost your pen twice. You're a nervous wreck. Have you eaten today? Hmmph, I didn't think so. Come on."

"What? Where?" Sam was flustered.

Toby pulled him up off the couch, "We're going to the Mess. You're going to eat something."

Sam sat and poked at a sandwich for ten minutes before deciding he wouldn't make it out alive if he didn't eat it. Toby tried to ignore him as much as was humanly possible, relieved when Sam began to nibble at the sandwich at last.

Charlie popped his head in the door.

"Hey, Toby, just wanted to warn you, on the way back from the park, the President wants to pop in to a bookstore in the new mall over that way. Ron's okayed it, so...there's no speech or anything, he just wants to buy some books there."

Toby rolled his eyes. "Sure. Thanks, Charlie."

Sam tried to work steadily after lunch, but when Toby had left for the dentist, he told Bonnie he was going to have a quick lie-down on Toby's couch. He felt tired and scratchy, the headache still lingering and the sandwich impersonating a sea-horse, bobbing about in his stomach. Sam didn't want to be a total wreck when Josh returned from the Hill. He lay back and closed his eyes, willing his jangled nerves to sort themselves out and leave him in peace.

At three-fifteen, Ginger gently shook Sam awake.

"What happened?"

"Toby didn't make it back from the dentist - there was some sort of abscess and they gave him too much anaesthetic and he's not even able to stand up yet. He needs you to go with the President to the opening of the park. Here's the speech and the notes."

Sam struggled into a sitting position.

"Thanks, Ginger." He yawned widely, and rubbed his eyes.

"You really need to stop doing that, Sam. And you'd better go brush your hair. You look like you've been dragged through the gorse bush backwards. How's the head?"

"I'm all right, I guess." He stretched and stood up, collecting the speech off Ginger, before getting his coat from his own office.

* * *

The park opening had gone without a hitch, just Sam and the President riding back in the limousine. Sam was still tired, and was looking over a map of the new park when he sensed the car was slowing down. Sure enough, the motorcade was pulling into the carpark of a huge mall. Sam looked up in surprise,

"What's going on? This is a mall."

The President turned to him excitedly,

"Didn't Toby tell you? We're going to a bookstore"

"Here?"

"Yes! Acorns to Oaks - it's an extraordinary little store. I'll explain why later. We can't stay there for long."

"It's IN the mall?"

"Sure is. Slap bang in the middle."

Sam paled visibly, biting his lower lip, a worried frown between his eyebrows. The President misunderstood his concern,

"It'll be fine, Sam. We're just going to breeze in, look around, congratulate the owners for protecting their store AND the oak tree, buy a few books, then get going. Ron's okayed the whole thing, albeit reluctantly."

The Presidential motorcade pulled up at a side entrance to the mall and agents quickly cleared the way. President Bartlet straightened his tie and jacket, running a hand over his hair.

"C'mon, Sam, let's go."

Sam opened his laptop, "Ah, I'll just wait here for you, sir."

"No way, Sam, you just have to see this."

Sam closed his laptop. He reluctantly followed the President out of the car, agents hustling them forward. As they made to go through the electronic doors, Sam slowed noticeably, an agent bumping into him,

"Please keep moving, Mr Seaborn."

Sam glanced backwards,

"Sorry, I just- " he tried to stop in the doorway.

"Please keep moving forward, Mr Seaborn." The agent placed a firm hand on Sam's shoulder, propelling him forward to keep pace with the President. Sam stumbled slightly, and the agent's grip moved to Sam's upper arm he regained his balance.

The group made its way into the mall. It was huge without appearing ungainly, five levels of stores spiralling upwards, every railing and divider trimmed with polished, pale pine, every level sharing specially designed indoor gardens, vibrant splashes of green visible in all directions. There was a relaxed feel, muted lighting, no blaring muzak. All the same, Sam could already feel his heart pounding as the mall swallowed them whole. He could see different arms of the shopping centre reaching out to four points of the compass, the centre focused on a glorious sky-lit rooftop.

He tried to slow the pounding, to breathe slowly even as they strode along, but his breath was starting to come in shallow gasps and Sam began to panic - he was losing control, the thing he hated most about this. They were nearing the bookstore, the oak tree clearly visible, surrounded by a small, white picket fence.

Sam knew his body was walking beside the President and he could hear him expounding on the history of the American shopping mall, but his mind was flying in wild circles, out of control. He tried to focus on his feet, left, right, left, right.

The processions slowed to a stop outside the bookshop. Agents were already in position inside and around the store, and they opened the door for the President, a bell tinkling warmly. Sam finally managed to evade the guiding hand of the agent behind him, stepping sideways and leaning against the wall next to the wood-framed bay window. He pressed a hand firmly against his stomach in an attempt to fight the rising nausea, his breath still spurting in awkward, jerky gasps.

Hearing the President's voice and accompanying laughter, Sam tried to straighten up, knowing he should be in there, but he could no longer move. The storefronts nearby seemed to shimmer and sway, adding to Sam's nausea. In desperation, he closed his eyes. He felt completely out of control. Drawing in ragged breaths, Sam pressed his back against the wooden storefront, trying to find some sense of stability as his legs began to shake.

Two strong hands suddenly gripped his upper arms, something Sam could feel despite the overpowering blackness that was enveloping him. Sam blinked desperately, trying to focus on the man in front of him.

"Mr Seaborn...Sam?" The hands shook him gently, but he couldn't respond. "Sam, are you ill?" Sam tried to reply but could only gasp haltingly. His blue eyes were wide and pleading. He heard the agent holding him speak to someone else,

"He's having some sort of attack - asthma maybe? We need to get him out of here. It's too risky to delay anyone here."

"Is he sick?"

"I can't tell."

There was a pause. Sam leaned into the strong grip of the agent. The other one spoke into his microphone,

"Ron, we have to move Princeton out...me and Flynn. He's sick or something. We're heading for the motorcade...yeah, okay." He looked up. "Let's go."

An agent on each side of him, they eased him away from the bookstore wall. Sam found his legs seemed to move independently of his brain, responding to the forward propulsion of the agents. Within a couple of minutes, they had cleared the exit.

Bright sunlight washed over the trio as they stopped by the presidential limousine. All three were panting, Sam gulping hungrily at the fresh, cool autumn air. His knees gave way, and he began to sink downwards. The agents quickly caught him under the armpits and levered him into the car. One climbed in beside him to ascertain his condition.

"Sir? Sam? Are you in pain?"

Sam managed a jerky shake of his head.

"It's the mall!" he gasped. "Problem...with malls." He waved a limp hand, "Panic attack."

"A panic attack? Really? Are you all right now?"

Sam leaned back against the seat, perspiration beaded across his forehead. He nodded weakly. The agent sat and observed him for a long moment, then withdrew to report back.

Sam sighed deeply. He should have stayed out of the mall. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to still the tremors rippling through his insides.

Five minutes later, the President, with his entourage of agents, bustled through the glass doors. He moved rapidly into the car clutching a bag of books. Doors slammed, sirens started up and they were on their way.

Jed Bartlet leaned back and looked closely at his speech-writer. Sam, sensing his scrutiny, tried to keep his eyes on the seat in front of him. Jed absorbed Sam's very sharp, pale features and slight trembling.

"Sam, why didn't you say something?"

"I- " Sam shrugged, keeping his eyes straight ahead, "Sometimes I'm okay... It's not important."

"But it is, Sam. I had no idea. I would never have made you come in. How often has this happened?"

"How often has a President of the United States dragged me into a shopping mall?" Sam gave a weak grin, catching Jed's eye for a moment.

"No, you idiot. How often do you get these panic attacks?"

"Hardly ever, sir. I try to stay out of malls if I'm feeling... a little, ah, stressed."

"Has it been a problem for a long time?"

"Years. I was lost in a mall when I was nine." Sam laid a hand across his stomach, grimacing. Jed leaned forward in consternation,

"You all right there, Sam?"

Sam sighed, "Yes, sir. Just... -butterflies."

Jed frowned at his tense, complicated young speech-writer leaning tiredly against the seat, and wondered how he couldn't have known about this.

"I'm sorry, Sam. You've tried some sort of therapy?"

"My parents tried, but... Josh has some plans for a sort of 'confrontational exposure and response therapy' - we just need to find some time to give it a go."

"Josh is a smart guy. It's worth a try. You can't avoid malls for ever."

"I've survived so far. It's just, it's hard having something that's beyond your control."

Jed snorted, "Try running the country. I'm not sure I'm EVER in control." He picked up his bag of purchases, "Let me show you the books I found..."

* * *

CJ knew about it. One evening on the campaign trail, they'd been sharing a few beers, and Josh had asked Sam if he was still afraid of Toby, who was elsewhere that night. That had started Donna quizzing everyone to admit what they feared the most. Caught up in a sense of 'truth or dare', CJ's spiders and Donna's bats had paled into insignificance when Sam had hesitated at his turn, leaving Josh the opportunity to fill the gap,

"Sam's scared of malls."

Their mouths had dropped open, their eyes focusing on Sam's panicked expression.

"SHOPPING malls?" CJ managed to get around a widening, wicked grin. Sam had blushed scarlet, ducking behind his bottle of beer. Josh, already three beers down, had quickly sensed their interest and leaned towards the two women conspiratorially,

"Some days, if he's already strung out, he can't even go through the entrance to a mall without completely freaking. We even struggle in arcades!"

Sam sank low in his seat, trapped between Josh and Donna, and elbowed Josh hard in the ribs.

"Ow!"

Josh shifted a little to avoid any further assault. Donna was frowning, trying to grasp the concept Josh had laid before them,

"How do you get afraid of a shopping mall?"

CJ and Josh collapsed against the table, laughing. Donna was not put off, leaning seriously and a little drunkenly towards Sam,

"Is it every mall or just one mall in particular?"

CJ banged her head on the table, screeching hysterically, and Josh wiped his eyes, awash and snorting with humour. After a minute, Donna patted Sam's thigh,

"C'mon, Sam, tell me what happened to you."

"Yeah, Sam," chortled CJ, "Tell us the whole story."

Sam shook his head, miserably embarrassed, his eyes fixed firmly on the label of his beer bottle. CJ reached out and touched his hand gently, momentarily sobered by his expression,

"Sam, we promise not to laugh. It's just, you were a high-flying lawyer in New York City -" she sniffed back another giggle, "- where did you shop?" All three burst into raucous laughter. Sam squirmed with discomfort. Josh shuffled back close and flung an arm around his shoulders,

"I'll tell 'em."

"No, Josh, -"

"It's okay, Sam," Josh's speech was slightly slurred and he leaned his head towards Sam's, "No-one will laugh at you, okay?"

"We promise," added Donna, and CJ nodded encouragingly.

Josh took on the air of a story-teller,

"Sam was nine years old, a small, weedy little boy-"

"I was not weedy!"

"Okay, okay. Slight. Anyway, this slight, dark-haired little boy and his Dad drive to LA's biggest, newest, shiniest shopping mall to buy the Mom a Mothers' Day gift. Somewhere in this big mall, the slight boy gets separated from his Dad, and after wandering in vain for some length of time, completely freaks out."

"I did NOT completely freak out..."

"Did someone scare him? Was he abused? Was he just terrified? No-one knows what happened in those hours he was alone, but when he was finally found and reunited with his Dad, he was in such a state they had to take him to hospital where he was sedated and kept under observation for the night." Josh paused as CJ and Donna absorbed this information, then continued, "He's hardly been able to go into a mall since. It sometimes brings on the most amazing panic attacks."

CJ stared at Sam, marvelling anew at his complexity. Donna had more practical things on her mind,

"Did your Mom still get a Mothers' Day gift?"

* * *

By the time the motorcade neared the West Wing, Sam had the shakes again, and was battling an overpowering desire to throw up violently all over the car. Jed had asked the agent in front to request Josh meet them at the door.

And there he was, wringing his hands as the car pulled up. Jed told Sam to wait in the car, then left him alone. He stepped over to Josh,

"Something you guys forgot to tell me, Joshua?"

"I'm sorry, Mr President, it was supposed to be Toby."

"Toby was going to tell me?"

"No, sir, Toby was accompanying you to the Mall. But he was held up at the dentist. Where's Sam?"

"He's still in the car. I'll let you extract him in peace." The President moved on inside. Josh opened the car door and looked inside. He took one look at the pale, shivering wreck and shook his head.

"Sam, Sam, what the hell..." he muttered tiredly. "C'mon, let's get you inside."

He leaned in and helped Sam slide out of the car, throwing a supportive arm around his waist. As they reached the Bullpen, Sam stopped.

"Josh, I, I, I need- "

"What d'ya need, Sam?"

"I -" Sam frowned. He shrugged in defeat, "I dunno."

Josh steered him inside, Ginger and Bonnie both staring in concern at Sam's appearance. They headed into Toby's office. Toby looked up with surprise, coming to his feet as he, too, realised Sam was unwell. Josh kicked the door shut and deposited Sam on the couch, before turning to Toby, his eyes flashing,

"A shopping mall, Toby. You sent him to a freaking SHOPPING MALL."

Toby held his hands up, conciliatory style,

"Josh, I'm sorry, the book-store, it went right out of my head. It wasn't scheduled."

"Look at him, Toby. He was out with the PRESIDENT." Josh was shouting. "How d'you think THAT feels?"

"It was a MISTAKE, Josh. We all make them. I didn't PLAN it."

"One hell of a mistake, Toby."

Toby moved over and sat on the coffee-table, his usual place to focus on Sam. He looked at Sam, still awfully pale, still flickering with a slight tremor, his eyes barely registering the argument raging above him.

"Sam, it was a genuine mistake. I'm sorry."

Sam lifted a hand vaguely, "It's okay."

Toby glanced up at Josh. "He needs to get some rest."

"Yeah, I'm gonna try and get away early. Can I leave him here for now?"

"Sure."

Josh slipped out, leaving the door open this time. Sam focused on Toby,

"I am right here, you know. You can talk TO me."

"Sorry. You - ah - want to lie down or something?"

"No, I'd rather do some work, maybe on the Sacred Heart thing..." Sam rubbed his hands up and down his thighs nervously. "Toby..."

"Hmm?"

"Toby, I have to get on top of this thing. Today, it was, it was awful. I should have been in that book-store, not holding up the wall outside like an idiot." Sam suddenly pressed a hand against his mouth, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Sam?" There was a moment's stillness, Sam breathing through his nose over his hand, then he opened his eyes again, lowering his hand,

"It's okay, just felt a bit nauseous."

"This thing, with the malls, it really affects you, doesn't it? I mean, physically."

Sam turned his mouth down dejectedly, "It's way out of my control. Once it starts, it spirals downhill all by itself. My mind, that's not even there anymore, they're like two separate things, mind and body."

He stood up shakily. "I think I'll just go for a walk outside."

"It'll be dark soon."

"I won't go far, dad!"

Toby snorted with relief, "Get out!"

Sam wandered out on the lawn, inhaling deeply the cool air. Winter would be upon them soon. He stared up at the few golden leaves still clinging to their branches by the tiniest of leafy threads. How tenacious. Like us, he thought, clinging to leadership, to guiding the country through turbulent times. Sam sank down slowly onto the lawn, and drove his fingers amongst the thick green blades of grass, feeling the dampness and chill of the heavy mud fill his fingernails. He clung to the earth, centring himself on the planet, renewing his place here, grounding his nervous self into a calmness that comes from being alone with nature. He closed his eyes, and imagined that beyond the roar and hum of the nearby traffic, he could hear the world slowly turning, a regular, repetitive, secure turning that he could embrace in the midst of all the chaos around him.

After some time, he could feel the chill of the earth seeping into his joints. He rose stiffly and turned back towards the West Wing. Josh was walking towards him across the lawn. They stopped in front of one another, inches between them. Josh searched Sam's face in the deepening gloom. Sam smiled back, a serene, sparkling smile, a tired smile too, and Josh grinned back, his dimples deepening as his grin widened. They turned together and headed back to the office side by side.

That'll do. But there is a sequel...Therapy.


End file.
